


Cockroaches

by Recourse



Series: We Shall All Be Healed [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Dirty Talk, F/F, Hate Sex, Healing, Masochism, Masturbation, Mental Illness, One-Sided Taylor/Victoria, Sacrifice Max, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Themes, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse, unhealthy masochism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-06-08 10:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6850537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recourse/pseuds/Recourse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Nathan kills Max in the bathroom, Chloe is left alone in Arcadia Bay and spiraling down fast. </p><p>Victoria inserting herself into Chloe's life does her no favors. At first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Crave Dysfunction

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Cockroaches [GER]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10193408) by [grizzly0304](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grizzly0304/pseuds/grizzly0304)



> Contains similar themes and plot threads from [Little Blue Pills](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6687919/chapters/15296155), including the characterization of Victoria in the weeks following Nathan's arrest and how Blackwell continues its photography program. That fic is not necessary to understand this one, however.
> 
> This story contains suicidal thoughts, indirect self-harm, traumatic (consensual) sex, verbal abuse, and a whole host of other nasty shit. **Please** read the tags and stay safe. I don't write this to hurt people.

_Rachel was here._

She was. All along.

Chloe sits alone in the dark, hunched over a bong in a torn-out bus seat, a bottle of vodka at her feet. Every time she sparks the lighter, the hideout surrounding her flashes, showing their words, woven together months ago. Chloe’s all-caps rage, Rachel’s fine script.

She should scrub it off. Burn this fucking place to the ground. But it, and a corpse, are the only proof that anyone ever cared about her.

The memory repeats like it has been for two weeks. Like it did in the courtroom. Like it does in her dreams. Nathan’s gun. A short figure rushing out from behind the stalls. A shot. Blood on the bathroom floor, blood on Chloe’s knuckles as she pounds Nathan’s face into the wall, screaming and sobbing because in that moment of clarity she knows who saved her. That pattern of freckles never changed.

Her hands shake as she sets the bong aside, breathing out a long sigh of smoke. Her fingers wrap around David’s gun again, bringing it on her knee, bouncing it there as she thinks and thinks and stews. Five years, not a call, not even a text. But one heroic sacrifice. Saving Chloe’s worthless ass.

Rachel’s body, just steps away from here. Like a taunt. Chloe’d passed by the remains of her shallow grave on her way here tonight. Once she heard the barricade tape was gone, she came right back. Where else is she supposed to go? This is the only place that’s hers. Of course it’s got bloodstains on it. It would.

She sets the gun against her temple. Add one more bloodstain. Why not? What reason does she have to stay? She’s going nowhere and she knows it. Now that Rachel’s gone. Not off in LA, living without her. Dead. And even Max. Even fucking Max is dead, the girl who’d still been on her mind despite every reason Chloe had to hate her. There’s no one to talk her down this time. No gentle words, no reassurances, no promise of a future or love. Arcadia Bay’s taken everything from her.

Still, her finger can’t quite squeeze. Max wouldn’t want her to do this. But what the fuck did she know, anyway? Not like they knew each other. Not like they were best fucking friends. Not anymore. Not since she left. Maybe if she had known, she would’ve hid behind the stalls like a smart person and let Chloe kill herself with her own stupid fucking decisions. Why should Chloe still be here? One death’s as good as any other if you want Nathan prosecuted, Jefferson found out. What matters is who lived. Max was in school, at least. She had a chance to go somewhere.

She freezes when she sees headlights sweep over the junkyard outside, when she hears tires pulling up to the gate. Whoever the fuck it is, they don’t belong here. But Chloe doesn’t want to see them, either. This is _her_ place. It’s all she has. Who the hell thinks they get to run around the junkyard at night? She wants to run out and fucking shoot them, and she wants to hide in here and pretend no one’s out there, so she decides to do the one that isn’t a crime and breathes shallow, tries to keep herself still. Hopefully they won’t stick around too long.

But waiting for them to leave is fucking torture. Hearing the sounds their shoes make as they wander through the mud. As they set something down. A _click_. Every time their footsteps stop, Chloe hopes that they’re gonna turn around and fuck off. But now they’re getting closer. The light of a phone flashlight grows outside the hideout door. Fuck off. Fuck _off_.

As soon as the light shines in Chloe’s face, she points the gun at it. Fuck off. Go away. As her eyes adjust, she starts to realize that this person doesn’t even seem fazed. She—it’s a she—is just standing there with her phone still held high until she lowers it so Chloe can see the short blonde hair and the tripod she’s carrying in the other hand and the fancy-ass clothes and what in the goddamn hell.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Chloe asks. Still pointing the gun. Because she knows who this is. She remembers. Nathan’s little bitch.

Victoria doesn’t answer. Still doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge Chloe’s obvious threat. She sets down her tripod, steps inside like she owns the place, and takes a seat on the makeshift bench beside Chloe, phone shining up at the ceiling.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Chloe growls, shifting in her chair to press the gun to Victoria’s forehead. “Not feeling super fucking generous to Vortex Club whores tonight.”

“Then pull the trigger,” Victoria suggests, leaning down and taking Chloe’s bottle.

Chloe wrinkles her brow. Well, now she can’t, not if she wants it. “You’re fucked-up,” she says as she lowers the gun back to her thigh and watches the preppy bitch take a long pull of her vodka.

“Mm-hmm,” Victoria hums as she sets the bottle down.

“Seriously, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Photos. What else?”

“Oh, like Jefferson, gotcha. Coming to check out the grave? Pretty cool, right? So _dark_. You’re so fuckin’ edgy.”

“Unlike you, blue-haired punk rat? Y’know, I thought that truck outside the gate was supposed to be a donation. Didn’t realize anyone actually drove that piece of shit.”

“So how hard is it to wash blood outta that cashmere? Or was she not bleeding when you and Nate put her in the ground?”

There we go. That’s the look Chloe wants.

“Fuck you,” Victoria spits.

“Not taking Nate’s sloppy seconds, thanks.”

“Fuck you.”

“C’mon, one more time and I might do it. I’m a fuckin’ fairytale over here, it’s like Bloody Mary.”

“I didn’t know!” Victoria’s fists shake in her lap.

“Sure. Like you weren’t hanging off him like a tick.” Chloe drops the gun and brings the bong up again. She needs to be able to blow smoke in her face at some point. “Always Vic and Nate, Prescott and Chase, acting like they owned Blackwell. You were a matched pair of assholes. How is he, by the way? Jail not too tough on the poor rich kid?”

“I haven’t talked to him.” Victoria’s voice is quieter now. Chloe doesn’t give a shit.

“Aw, boo hoo, missing your fuckbuddy?”

“We weren’t—”

“Don’t care.” Chloe lights the bowl and takes a long pull, letting the bubbling drown out whatever the fuck Victoria is saying. As Chloe starts to set down the bong, Victoria reaches for it, and Chloe lets loose a stream of smoke into her eyes.

“Asshole,” Victoria coughs, managing to grab the bong anyway and rip it out of Chloe’s grasp.

“Pots and kettles, bitch.”

There’s something satisfying about watching Victoria fucking Chase struggle to light up, the shakes in her chest making her pull hesitant, resulting in a coughing fit. Not so dignified.

“Nice skunk weed,” Victoria chokes out.

“Bring your own next time, then.”

“Next time?”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “I mean, no, unless you’ve got some actual reason to come out here and invade my space again. Also, again, the fuck are you actually doing here, besides smoking my weed and drinking my booze?”

Victoria answers by setting down the bong and bringing out a pack of cigarettes from inside her jacket. As soon as she flips the top off, Chloe reaches over and slides one out for herself, because fair’s fair, and Victoria doesn’t seem to be objecting. Their smoke mingles together in the dark after their first drag.

“I don’t fucking know,” Victoria says at last.

“So now you’re doing shit for no reason? Maybe go see Nathan’s therapist. According to the courts, he was actually right on the ball.”

Victoria takes another drag. “I wanted to see if I could figure it out. Just...why he did it.”

“He had a whole big sob story. And I mean ‘sob,’ that pussy was crying his eyes out for the whole trial. Little shit.”

“You’re fucking impossible to talk to.”

“What, ‘cause I’m honest with you, unlike those slaves you’ve got sucking your ass down at Blackwell? What a compliment, Vic.”

Victoria actually seems to consider that for a moment, turning over her lit cigarette in her hands. She sighs as Chloe sucks on her own deathstick, the buzz of nicotine flaring in her fingertips.

“This project’s actually due tomorrow,” Victoria says. “I need to get it done.”

“Good for you? I’m not leaving. This is my place. And Rachel’s. You’re shitting on it just by being here. I really should shoot your ass.”

“I didn’t fucking help him.”

“Then what’s that video of that girl, Kate? You posted that, right? That sure as hell came up when the evidence was gettin’ presented.”

“I deleted it.”

“Yeah, I know, they had to find one of your bitch-ass friends who still had it on their phone. But that katesvid site was in your name.”

“I didn’t know,” Victoria whispers.

“And that makes it all better, right.” Chloe flicks her spent cigarette at Victoria’s face. “Because it’s totally cool to take video of someone drunk out of their mind and use it to bully them, as long as they weren’t drugged. That’s how that works.”

Victoria slumps down and puts her hands over her face.

“You’re a cockroach, Vic,” Chloe continues, taking her bottle from the floor. “Waste of oxygen. Parasite living off her dad’s money and connections to even bigger assholes.” _Not that I’m any better,_ Chloe thinks. _But I’m not telling her that._

“I know,” Victoria mumbles into her hands.

God dammit.

She’s supposed to fight back, say some stupid shit about fashion or whatever to try and cut Chloe down. Chloe takes a swig of vodka. This is supposed to be a fight. Supposed to get Chloe’s blood pumping again.  It’s starting to feel like kicking a kitten. But still, fuck her, right? Just because she admits she’s worthless doesn’t make her not worthless.

“Get out of here,” Chloe sneers. “Get back to your hive.”

“I s-still need to—”

“Fine, get your fucking pictures. Like I said, I’m not going anywhere. Too fucked-up, anyway, and I’m not gonna crash my oh-so-shitty truck tonight.” Chloe steals another of Victoria’s cigarettes. Hers don’t burn quite as bad as Chloe’s.

Victoria takes in a sharp breath and leaves her phone on the table while she heads back to her tripod. Chloe watches her with a glare, and looks right into the camera as she lights the cigarette.

“So what’s the assignment?” Chloe asks as Victoria repositions her camera and starts wandering around the hideout.

“Lighting.”

“So you went for night. Like I said, _so_ edgy, Vic.”

Victoria grits her teeth. There’s the ice queen. Chloe wonders idly how far she can push it.

“So you really weren’t fucking Nathan? Shock of the century. I thought they bred people like you two together for fancy WASP families, like dogs.”

“Shut up, dyke.” Camera _clicks._

“Can’t blame me for fucking Rachel. Everyone else wanted to. Even Nathan!”

“Yeah, and everyone else _did_.” _Click._

Hair rises on the back of Chloe’s neck. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Ooh, struck a nerve, huh?”  _Click_.

“She was _mine_.”

“Sure, go on believing that. Keep saying it too. Actually, say it to Frank sometime, he’ll definitely agree with you.” _Click._

“What the fuck are you—”

“Go and check out his photo album, too, he’s got talent. Coulda gone to Blackwell.”

There’s Chloe’s heartbeat. In her throat.

“He was pretty fucked-up over Rachel, too, last time I saw him. You two could get high and cry about the whore that played you both.”

Chloe shoots to her feet and pins Victoria against the wall by the neck, knocking the tripod to the floor. “Call her that again,” she hisses, edging her elbow into Victoria’s throat.

Her brown eyes are hard glints in the darkness. “Rachel Amber was a whore.”

Chloe brings her knee up into Victoria’s stomach and relishes in the sound of her pathetic little whimper of pain. She steps back and watches Victoria double over, clutching at herself and whispering “ _Fuck_.”

“Get the fuck out of here before I kill you,” Chloe warns, stalking over to the bench and taking Victoria’s phone. No case on it. Of course. Rich bitch. With a smirk, Chloe tosses it behind her back and hears it _crack_ when Victoria fails to catch it. She settles back into her chair and puts the gun on her knee again, watching Victoria scramble around trying to gather up all her shit. “Hurry up before my finger gets twitchy,” Chloe sings.

“You won’t shoot me,” Victoria says as she pulls her tripod back up.

“Really? You think so? You think I’ve got anything to lose?” The gun bounces on Chloe’s leg, jittering in her grip. “Your best friend killed the only two people I ever gave a shit about. Can’t shoot him. Could shoot you.”

Victoria freezes as she bends down for her phone.

“You...you mean Max?”

“What, did he kill someone else, too? Hard to keep track.”

The look Victoria gives her, lit from below by her phone’s shattered screen, is deeply unsettling. It’s not hatred. Chloe’s not sure it’s even pity. Her face is wide and open and her eyes shine with tears.

“I didn’t know.”

“You keep saying that like it means fuck-all.” Chloe raises the gun up. “Like being stupid makes it better. Get out. I’m not saying it again.”

Victoria stuffs her phone back in her jacket, hoists up her tripod, and rushes out the doorway.

As Chloe finishes Victoria’s cigarette, she feels her pulse beating through her body, anger and hatred and confusion running through her veins. She thinks about really doing it. Shooting Victoria. Fair’s fair, right, Nathan? You kill my friends, I kill yours. She knows it’s not a healthy thought, that it probably makes her as bad as him.

At least she feels alive.

 


	2. Left Us Wanting More

Chloe spends most of her time in the hideout these days, so somehow, it’s no surprise when Frank shows his ugly mug. She’s kind of been waiting for it, taking swigs of vodka as the sun lowered in the sky and turned the junkyard orange. If she’s honest with herself, she’s fucking hammered. But she’s got the gun, so as soon as Frank appears in the doorway, she’s more than ready to deal with his punk ass.

“Get the fuck out of here, Frank,” she says immediately.

“Where’s my money?” is his reply.

“Hey, dipshit, y’ever think real hard about how I was gonna _get_ that money for you? Like, ever? I’m unemployed. Seems like kinda your problem that you gave me three thousand bucks,” Chloe points out.

“Fuck you, you little punk. Rachel put in a good word for you, but I’m starting to think she was wrong,” Frank says, taking a knife from his pocket.

Rachel. Victoria’s words float through Chloe’s head, and she swings the gun up from her side and points it right between Frank’s eyes. “Back the fuck up,” Chloe warns. “Had some drinks. Not thinking super straight. Might just shoot you.”

Frank freezes. “Where the hell did you get—”

“Don’t think that’s your concern right now, Frank. But please, feel free to keep pushing this. Go on. I fucking dare you.”

“Jesus, Chloe, the fuck happened to you?” Frank says, stepping back and lowering the knife. “You’re worse off than usual, and you were fucked when I met you.”

“Same shit that had you wait for two weeks to get your hounding game back on,” Chloe sneers. “Fucking Rachel, apparently.” She spots the bracelet around Frank’s wrist, and she knows Victoria wasn’t lying, and that gets her stumbling to her feet with the gun still pointed at Frank and rage pounding through her muscles.

“I _should_ fuckin’ shoot you, and your mangy fucking dog,” Chloe slurs. “You fucked her. My girl. Mine.”

Frank’s eyes widen with fear and he puts his hands out in front of him. “Chloe, I don’t know what the fuck—”

“ _Bullshit._ Vic said you had fucking pictures of her. So what did you do, huh? Drug her, like Nathan?” Chloe takes another step forward, hand clenching the gun.

“Fuck you, I’d _never_ hurt her,” Frank says, dropping his hands and tightening them into fists.

“So I’m just another one of her toys, then?” Chloe feels tears stinging at her eyes. “What, was she planning to leave with _you_?”

“I don’t know, Chloe,” Frank admits. “But, Jesus, put the gun down. Think about—”

“You pulled a blade on me, asshole. You’ve been stalking me for months. Why should you get to live if she didn’t, huh? You’re no one special. No one would even miss your punk ass.”

“Fuck, Chloe, I’m sorry, okay?”

Chloe squints one eye at him. “What?”

“Jesus, I was never gonna—fuck. Look. You’re not the only one who wants to get out of this shithole town, all right? When I gave the money to you, I was trying to help her out,” Frank says, still staring at the barrel. “But...shit. I’m not getting the money from you. And frankly, you’re scaring the shit out of me right now. I’ll leave you alone, just don’t—put the gun down, God.”

“You’re backing off?” Chloe asks, still squinting at him.

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck this, I’m not getting shot over it.”

“You better be telling the truth, Frank. Otherwise—” Chloe points the gun to the side of his feet and fires off a round. Frank jumps backward, then freezes in place. “I’m not fucking around, Frank. You get it?”

“Got it like five minutes ago. I’m gone.”

But as Frank turns, Chloe hears someone running across the dirt towards them, and then Frank’s incredulous, “Victoria?”

“What the hell did you do?” Victoria asks as she runs into Chloe’s view, stopping right in Frank’s face. She looks over and spots Chloe, and her face softens. “Why the fuck did I just hear a _gunshot_?”

“None of your business,” Frank says, shoving her back. “It’s over. Fuck it all.”

Victoria whips a hand in and out of her purse and comes out with a switchblade. “Frank, the fuck are you doing to Chloe?”

“Jesus H. Christ, is every teenage girl in this town fucking armed now?” Frank exclaims, holding his hands up. “Look, it was a debt. I cancelled it. It’s fucking over.”

“How much?” Victoria asks.

“Three thousand. But like I said. It’s over, ‘cuz she’s fucking nuts and I’m not dying over it." Frank tosses a hateful glance at Chloe.

Victoria’s eyes narrow, and she stashes the blade. But as Frank moves to push past her, Victoria puts a hand on his chest and says, “Hold on,” fishing in her purse. She pulls out her wallet.

“The fuck, Vic?” Chloe asks as Victoria starts drawing out bills.

“There. Twenty-five hundred. Get out of here,” Victoria says, shoving the wad of cash at Frank’s chest. He somehow looks even more terrified, but he takes the money and practically sprints away, leaving Victoria and Chloe staring at each other through the doorway.

“Vic. What the shit.”

“He wouldn’t have stayed off you for long. He’s as fucked up as you are. He would get drunk, come back here, and then you would shoot him and nobody would be happy. Now he’s got his money.”

“Okay, but number one, why the hell do you care, number two, why the hell are you even here? I told you to fuck off.”

“I owe you a bowl.”

Chloe needs a second to process that, staring dumbly as Victoria stands there, stiff, clutching her purse. “Uh, Vic, I don’t know where you get your weed, but I’ve never paid two thousand and five hundred bucks for a bowl before,” Chloe says, cocking her head.

“Look, can’t I fucking try to do the right thing once in a while?” Victoria sighs. “It’s—It’s my fault you shot at him, I’m the one who blabbed about Rachel like a bitch.”

“So, what, am I your pity project now?”

“I j-just want to not be shitty for a minute or two.”

“Good luck, Vic. It’s drilled into your bones.” Chloe waves the gun at her dismissively and plods back to the torn-out bus seat, collapsing into it and closing her eyes.

She doesn’t hear Vic leaving. In fact, Vic’s breathing is getting kind of annoying, all shaky like that, waiting for something. Chloe opens her eyes and sees her still standing there in the doorway, looking into Chloe’s eyes, like she needs permission.

“Oh my God, fine, fuck it, come in, toke it up with the dropout,” Chloe groans, tired of looking at her all...weird. She closes her eyes again as Victoria comes in and sits down beside her, hearing her shuffle around in her purse.

Victoria loads up her own pipe in silence, like she’s worried Chloe will bite her head off if she makes a sound. Chloe finds the unlit bowl pressed into her hands. Greens, because it’s her place.

“Vic, what are you doing,” Chloe sighs. “Tired of being Queen Bitch or something?”

“Don’t try and analyze me, Price. Light the damn pipe.”

Chloe shrugs. Fine. If she gets free weed out of it, she can be Vic’s little guilt-friend. She grabs the lighter that Victoria holds out to her and takes a hit. It’s so smooth it barely feels like smoking. “This that twenty-five-hundred-dollar weed?” Chloe asks as she passes it over to Victoria, puffs of smoke coming out with each word.

“It’s dispensary shit. Got a friend,” Victoria says with a shrug as she lights up.

“Even your drugs are fancy. Typical.”

“You do know I’m trying to say I’m sorry, right?”

Chloe frowns. That’s the second unexpected apology from a douchebag today. Is David gonna roll up in a second, too, and cry about what a shitty stepfather he is? Maybe join in with the peace-pipe smoking and then someone can play White Rabbit and shit? She’s not okay with that. Life isn’t like this.

“So the only way you know how to do that is money and drugs, huh?” Chloe asks, leaning back. “Sounds about right.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oops, that’s the third time, I have to do it now,” and Chloe leans over and gets right in Victoria’s face, lips inches from hers, waiting for her to draw back and do that straight-girl gay-panic shit. Instead, Victoria’s frozen. Trembling, a little bit, like she’s afraid Chloe’s actually gonna go for it. The moment’s a lot more uncomfortable than Chloe really wanted it to be, so she shoves Vic back and laughs in her face. “Jesus, Vic, like I’d _ever_ lower myself to fuck a cockroach,” she says, bile in her throat. “Even I’ve got some standards.”

“Chloe, y-you’re being really shitty,” Victoria says after taking a minute to regain her composure.

“Am I? Wonder why that could be. Maybe it’s that I don’t have to accept your apology if I don’t fucking want to. Maybe I’m still thinkin’ of shooting you so Nathan knows what it feels like,” Chloe says, the drink and the high making her feel invincible in front of this humbled little Blackwell prep. “But then again, you don’t talk to him anymore, right? You abandoned him, huh?”

“He’s a f-fucking _murderer_ —”

“Great friend you were. Really glad you’re trying to worm your way into being mine.”

“You—” Victoria grunts. “You’re doing this on purpose. Y-You know you’re talking bullshit.”

“You caught on! Holy shit, she’s got a brain, somebody call the news van.” Chloe sinks back into her chair as Victoria takes another hit, grinning at the anger she can see in Vic’s body language, the tension in her arms that makes the pipe shake. “You getting off on this, Chase?” Chloe taunts. “You like coming around here so I can shit all over you or something? ‘Cuz, honestly, I’m having a great fuckin’ time, but I’m not getting why you’re staying.”

Victoria breathes out a long, unsteady line of smoke, her lips quivering. “You tweaking right now?” Chloe asks, tilting her head. “Needed some coke before your weed, huh? That how you keep it all balanced? Where do the other rich-kid drugs go in there? When do you do the Adderall, is that before or after the molly?”

Victoria just passes the pipe to Chloe. “What, done talking?” Chloe asks. Victoria just puts a shaking hand to her forehead and grinds into it while Chloe sucks off the cherried pipe.

“H-How did you know Max?” Victoria asks as Chloe blows out a smoke ring, feeling the relaxation spread through her muscles.

“See, now, that doesn’t follow on from my question at all. You’re shit at conversation, Vic.” Chloe grins at Victoria’s hesitance when she takes the pipe back. She’s so fucked up. Pretended to be so high and mighty, but here she is, blitzed out of her head and trying to feel better by talking to Chloe fuckin’ Price of all people. Maybe this is better than shooting her, getting to see her like this. Maybe Chloe’s not the fuck-up in this situation, for once.

“I-I just never knew,” Victoria mumbles, wrapping her lips around the pipe.

“Why would you? Years before you even got to this shitty town. Best friends as kids. She left before high school. Doesn’t text me or call me or anything. Shows up and stays at Blackwell for a month without talking to me. Then she runs out in front of Nathan’s gun to save me.” Chloe brings up the gun and mimes aiming it, pulling the trigger. “Bang! No more little Max Caulfield.”

“I’m sorry.” Victoria’s low voice comes out with a cloud of smoke. “That sucks.”

Chloe drops the gun. “Astute fucking observation, Chase. Man, you really are shit at this. This how you and Nathan used to talk? Must’ve been a tight bond, there.”

Victoria starts crying, loud and stupid, and this isn’t fun anymore.

“You getting it yet?” Chloe asks, her voice losing its drunken confidence, wavering despite the bile she’s dripping into it. “We aren’t gonna be fucking buddies. You and I shouldn’t be anywhere near each other. Stay the fuck out of my business, Chase. If you think my shitty decisions are gonna kill me, let them. Or you’ll end up like Max.”

Victoria’s _not_ getting it, she’s still sniffling into her hands and whimpering like a fucking child. So Chloe has to get up and grab her by the wrists, force her to her feet, the pipe dropping onto the floor and dumping half the bowl out. “Fucking leave,” Chloe hisses. “Go back to where you belong.”

“I’m sorry,” Victoria whispers again as Chloe shoves her out of the hideaway.

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

She doesn’t. She really fucking doesn’t. Fuck this pathetic little Blackwell twerp who thinks she can make up for what she did. Life isn’t like this.

Victoria walks off, clutching her purse for dear life, still sniffling, still broken. Like Chloe. As she heads back inside, she spots Vic’s pipe still lying on the ground. She loads what’s left on the floor back into it, then flumps back down in her seat. Picking up the scraps of others.

She called Vic a cockroach. Chloe must be something lower, because here she is, mooching off of Victoria’s money and drugs. Just another parasite.


	3. An Incipient Nightmare

_You getting off on this, Chase?_

No. Yes. _Fuck_.

Victoria braces herself against her desk, staring down at it, hands clenched on the edges, cutting into her skin.

Chloe’s voice is all she can hear. Ever since that first night in the junkyard, it’s replaced her own, in her head. Talking to her is confirmation, of everything that she thinks in the dark. It’s addictive. More than any drug. To hear Chloe say everything about Victoria that she’s always known is true. To hear that rough and raw anger, that righteous hatred. No one’s ever talked to her like that, not even her parents, because at least they want something out of her, to make her better. Chloe just fucking despises her, untempered by fear or ulterior motives.

_I’m honest with you, unlike those slaves you’ve got sucking your ass down at Blackwell._

Victoria shudders. Partly because the coke’s wearing off and she’s twitching like crazy. Partly because of how goddamn right Chloe is. She never talked to Chloe before, she was just Rachel’s little hanger-on who vanished every time that Rachel actually came out in public. But now she’s starting to think she gets it. There can’t be anyone else like her in this town. Even bribes don’t work. She’s implacable. Unstoppable. Like Victoria pretends to be. Maybe Rachel had to have that too, along with everything else she conned and fucked her way into. Maybe Chloe really was the one she loved all along.

_Like I’d ever lower myself to fuck a cockroach._

Chloe’s hot breath on her lips. Her lean body in the mixture of light and shadow in the hideaway. Her blue eyes, totally unbothered by everything she was drinking and smoking, still hard and hateful so close to Victoria. Victoria feels it again. That same sick sensation. That chemical mixture in her stomach. She’s hated it ever since she first felt it. She hates it because of when it comes, who sparks it. Never with men. Not fucking once. She could never even lie to herself once she figured it out. She can lie to everyone else, but she always knew. She wonders if Chloe knows, yet. The shit she was saying could mean she does, or it could mean she’s just trying to fuck with the ‘straight’ girl. The thought’s terrifying. And enticing. If Chloe learns how she makes Victoria’s skin vibrate, what will she do?

Victoria stands up and traces the bruise that Chloe left on her stomach. She presses into it. Pain, but rushing, too. She deserved it, absolutely. That’s what she was trying to say when she handed off her money to Frank, when she sat down beside Chloe and tried to talk. She deserves everything that Chloe throws at her, and she wants more. So much more that she can barely think of it. She wants to hear that voice in her ear, she wants Chloe’s arm crushing her neck again, Chloe’s hands on her wrists, anything, just touching her, feeling that spiteful _life_ she’s so full of. A drug. A fix.

But Chloe will probably actually kill her if she shows up again, and she’s still fucked up, anyway. That’s why she cried and set off what little pity Chloe has in her. Pathetic. She wants Chloe to stay pissed, to keep talking, to want to stay with Victoria and keep tearing her open. She can’t cry, or say sorry, or anything like that. Can’t let the guilt show. She has to keep squeezing that hate out of Chloe. She doesn’t deserve pity or love or redemption, just pressure and pain for all the shit she’s done.

She swallows as her imagination sets in motion. Lays down on her bed, on her knees, face stuffed into the pillow. She tugs up her skirt and reaches between her legs. Could she push Chloe into this? Make her think this would hurt, because it would, but it would also be so much more. Would it be like this? Chloe taking her from behind, that _voice_ rumbling on her neck? Victoria presses into her underwear, but she’s too hesitant, too soft. Chloe wouldn’t do that. It’s not sharp enough.

Victoria sits up for a second and rolls her panties down her legs, leaving them at her knees. That seems more like it. Chloe would leave them there because she doesn’t care about seeing Victoria, just attacking her where it would hurt the most. Just getting access. She lays herself back down and shivers as she starts again, harder this time, faster. Even if it’s at the wrong angle, this seems closer. She bites the inside of her lip, but at some point, it feels like she’s plateaued. Not enough. She twists her wrist and digs a nail into her clit, and _there_ it is. She lets out a strangled gasp, rotating her finger in stiff circles. If there’s a difference between pain and pleasure, her nerves aren’t registering it. She wonders if Chloe bites. If she’d put out a cigarette on her neck.

The release isn’t as strong as she wants it to be. She just chokes and freezes for a minute, and then she can’t stand touching herself anymore, collapsing face-first into the pillow and groaning. It barely took the edge off. She still wants to see Chloe. Still wants to be ripped apart, verbally, physically. Her stomach stings as she shifts against the bed.

She lets herself wonder, for a moment, what Chloe was like for Rachel. If they were rough and raw and nasty with each other. And then, she lets out a dry laugh at herself. She’s still fucking jealous of Rachel Amber. Jealous of her openness. Her ability to move between the crowds without suffocating herself. Her free love. Chloe’s love. Jealous of where she is now. Free of pain, and guilt, and longing.

Victoria will go back to the junkyard. Soon. Either she gets what she wants, or she dies, if those are even distinguishable anymore.

 

* * *

 

Victoria sits in her car and stares at the gateway to American Rust, the crescent moon high above her. Her fingers tremble as she lights a cigarette. Nicotine’s okay. It keeps her steady. She’s not high or drunk or tweaking or rolling or anything and she hasn’t been for three days because she wants this so fucking badly. She thinks she knows how to do this. How to get what she wants. Needs. From Chloe. Keep up the persona long enough and needle her, make her say all those horrible things again, make her get up close and in her face. Then it has to happen. It has to, because Victoria hasn’t thought of anything else for days, because thinking of other things makes her feel dead.

She finishes off the cigarette before she steps out. Too fast, her lungs feel like they’re gonna pop in her chest, but that stings in the right way too. Pain. Pain is what’s driving her out here, pain is what she’s after. She heard once that people get addicted to spicy food because your brain releases painkillers when you eat it. She wonders if that’s what’s going on, if it’s all just chemical. That would be the easy explanation. She’s used to that kind of slavery.

She passes Chloe’s truck, running her hand along the hood. Wonders what kind of memories Rachel and Chloe made in that shitmachine. When Rachel was away from the Vortex Club and nobody questioned it. Nobody made weird comments under their breath about Rachel’s disappearances. It was part of her mystique. It made them think she was having adventures. Victoria’s mysteries make them think of something darker, under a barn, in the middle of the woods.

Stop fucking thinking about that. That’s Chloe’s job. Chloe will burn it away with her words and her hands and her defiance. Chloe turns your mind into writhing flame and pure emotion, not images and sickness and guilt. Rage fills you up and makes you whole.

She steps into the doorway of the hideaway. Chloe’s there, like she expected, but she just laughs when she sees her.

“Goddamn, you are a real infestation, huh?” Chloe giggles through puffs of smoke. There’s no alcohol in sight. That’s not right. Chloe’s an angry drunk, that’s what made this work before. Did she just run out?

“Here for my pipe,” Victoria says, like she practiced.

“Smashed it,” Chloe lies as she holds up the object in question and lights the bowl. “Made pretty little tinkling sounds like a cartoon.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Pots and kettles, bitch.” Chloe giggles again. “Seriously, you coming in for a bowl or not?”

No. This isn’t _right._ Chloe’s not doing it right, Chloe’s not even pissed that she’s here. What’s wrong with her? She’s the one who’s supposed to know how fucked-up Victoria is, who’s supposed to be the one to say everything aloud. There has to be a way to get that back. As Chloe takes in a hit, Victoria thinks she’s found one.

“Just fucking give it back,” she grunts, walking up and holding out her hand. “This shit’s over.”

“Really? You give a shit about this thing? You could buy another one.” Chloe taunts, holding it away from her face. “Nah. Nah, that’s bullshit and you fuckin’ know it. Still not getting why you keep coming back here. Blackwell too fake even for you now? Or somethin’ else?” Chloe’s giving her a cocky smirk, and that’s not right, either.

“Hand it—”

“I’ve been thinking over the past couple days. Two ideas kept sorta swirling around in my brain, why you came back here again. First was guilt, obviously, because you should be swimming in it,” Chloe interrupts. “You wanna make things right, huh? That your plan?”

“I don’t give a fuck about you.”

“Sure, Ms. ‘Boo-hoo I’m sorry please tell me about Max.’ No. No, that’s definitely part of it. You’re trying to make yourself feel better by cozying up to the last person alive that your friend fucked with.”

Victoria shudders. There we go.

“Well, _fuck you_. I’m not your fucking therapy dog. I’m not here to give you warm fuzzy fucking feelings about your murderous asshole buddy.” Chloe’s posture stiffens, fingers curling around the pipe. “He’s a psychopath, and you’re either an accomplice or an idiot for hanging around him. Nothing you ever do is gonna make up for that.”

Chloe’s on a roll, and Victoria just wants her to keep talking, but she has to keep up the game. “I’m not the one who killed anybody,” Victoria says through grit teeth. “Nobody fucking arrested me. I’m innocent.”

“And there you go, that’s the other idea. People like you, rich fuckin’ parasites, everyone tells them nothing in the world is their fault. Nathan cried like a little bitch on the stand, but he still blamed Jefferson, his parents, fuckin’ anybody but himself. Maybe you’ve got some of that shit eating at your head, but you’d fucking bury it like everything else eventually. Unless.” Victoria’s heart pounds in her chest as Chloe gently sets down the smoking pipe and gets to her feet, a glimmer in her eye. “It’s just my punkish charm.”

Victoria barks out a laugh even as Chloe steps closer. “Charm? Please. You and Max, so fucking sure that your ‘quirky’ shit makes you cute.”

Chloe sucks in air through her teeth at the sound of Max’s name, but she keeps coming anyway. Victoria steadies herself. Don’t stutter, don’t cry. Piss her off.

“You think I give even the slightest shit about you, Price?” she says. “You keep calling me a parasite, but what the fuck are you, huh? Sitting in this fucking junkyard, day in, day out, drugged out of your mind. Acting like that gun makes you tough. What was it you said? Pots and kettles?”

Chloe’s circling around her now. Victoria stands her ground, even as Chloe traces a finger along the base of her neck. She tries not to shake. Tries to ignore that tingle down her spine as Chloe leans in over her shoulder.

“Mhmm. Pots and kettles. Dyke.”

All of Victoria’s muscles clench. She needs to respond with something, but Chloe’s breath on her skin is blanking out her plans.

“You like that word, huh?” The rasp is back in Chloe’s voice. “You like throwing it at people to hurt them. But you come around here because you want me to fuck you.”

Chloe’s right. Again. Always. About everything. Hearing it aloud stings in her chest.

“Hypocritical. Worthless. Parasite.” Chloe’s lips graze Victoria’s ear. “Am I right?”

“Fuck you.”

“You said it again,” and Chloe’s hand is on her back, shoving Victoria’s face into the wall, and as her cheek scrapes against the brick she lets out a whimpering “Ah!” and _fuck_. Now she’s given it all away. Chloe’s got her. Victoria can feel it pooling between her legs, can feel the sweat beading on her neck. She was never in control.

Chloe keeps her bent over and pressed up against the wall, one hand traveling down her back, the other bracing against Victoria’s thighs. “Say it,” she growls. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

No. No, she can’t, she can’t say it aloud, she can never even think about it, it’s supposed to be Chloe’s job. But Chloe’s hand is so rough, pressing into her spine, nails dragging down through Victoria’s sweater. If she doesn’t say it, will Chloe stop? She can’t stop. It’s too close to really happening. She can’t come up with a taunt, though, can’t find a way to make Chloe hate her enough to attack her without her spoken permission. Her mind’s full of vapor from the blood boiling in her veins.

“Do you want this or _not_ , Chase?” Chloe hisses as her hand passes over Victoria’s ass and hooks under her skirt.

“Yes,” Victoria breathes, tears stinging at her eyes.

“Yes, what?”

“I want you to fuck me.” It feels like throwing up, to say it out loud. But the rough tug on her skirt doesn’t, it feels like fire and wet anticipation mixing together. She braces her hands against the wall, and Chloe yanks down her panties to her knees, just like she imagined, yes, _yes._ Chloe’s hand pushes between her legs and Victoria lets out a groan as she feels two fingers invade her and start pumping, no rhythm, no questioning, no hesitation.

“That feel good, bitch?” Chloe’s voice feels like sandpaper.

Yes and no and it hurts but it doesn’t. Victoria just listens to the slick sounds of her body, grinding her forehead into the brick, trying not to moan.

“Who’s the whore now?” Chloe asks as her fingers suddenly slip out and leave Victoria empty. But they travel up and push her hood back, and then they just _sit_ there, waiting. Waiting for Victoria. Victoria knows what the answer really is, but she also knows that this is a moment she can twist to her liking.

“Rachel,” she croaks.

“ _Fuck you_.” Chloe’s words quiver in the air, but her fingers don’t hesitate. Victoria throws her head up as Chloe pinches her clit between her thumb and forefinger, crying out even as electric shocks shoot up her back and explode into white spots in her vision. She pants and gasps as Chloe holds fast, and then _twists_ , and now she’s not sure she can actually take this, maybe this is too much—

“Who’s the whore?!” Chloe demands again.

“Me,” Victoria chokes out. She falls forward with relief as Chloe releases her, almost smashing her nose into the bricks, her nails scraping across the rough surface, flecks of polish chipping off as she closes her hands into fists.

“Right fucking answer.” The pads of Chloe’s fingers rub against Victoria’s clit, and it can’t take much longer now, Victoria can feel the way her legs are shaking, the tension in her arms. She cranes her neck up again as she feels it coming, threatening to wash her away.

“You gonna come, Vicky? Against the wall, in the junkyard?”

Yes. Yes she is, she knows, she knows this will be so much more than her own fumbling attempts to touch herself, it’s looming over her like a tidal wave.

“Say my fucking name.”

“Chloe,” comes out in a whisper and Victoria convulses, falling against the wall, sinking to her knees as the strength leaves her legs, tears flowing readily down her face. She can’t breathe, it’s still rocking through her, even as she feels Chloe wiping her hand on the back of her sweater. When her lungs start to work, all Victoria can do is gasp. And sob.

She hunches over, hugging herself, still feeling those waves of pleasure, the lingering sting of pain, and Chloe can fucking shoot her now. It finally happened, and it’s as disgusting and perverted and terrible as she was always told it was, nothing’s right about it, nothing’s right about her entire fucking life. Chloe’s not even touching her anymore, Chloe fucking _hates_ her, Chloe did this to her because she deserves to know that everything she wants is always going to be covered in shit because of who she is.

“Everything you wanted?” Chloe’s trying to put on the sneer again, but her voice sounds just like it did the last time Victoria cried in front of her. Like she’s not actually happy with this. Like pity. Like she just wants Victoria to leave because doing this to someone feels shitty. Victoria _knows_ it always does, eventually, it did with Max and Rachel and how all her hate for them was always about how much she hates herself, and that misdirected evil probably made Nathan think it would be okay to kill them, because his best friend hated those bitches, too. And she’s spent the last week manipulating Chloe, toying with her grief and her rage, so she’d do it to Victoria.

“Get up.”

Victoria’s legs don’t work. Nothing works. She’s broken.

“Get _up_.” Chloe grabs her under the arm and yanks her up. Victoria stumbles, her legs tangled in her underwear, and she grabs onto Chloe’s jacket for balance. Chloe lets out a disgusted, “Ugh,” and pushes her back into the wall again. Victoria braces her back against it, unable to stand up straight, unable to look at Chloe, afraid of what she’ll see on that beautiful face of hers.

“You done coming around here, Vic? That enough for you? Had your little gay experiment with the fuckup?”

Victoria wants to shake her head, because, no, it’s not enough. Chloe has to kill her. Chloe has to tear her limb from limb and bury her in Rachel’s grave because she’s going to feel like this forever. _Nothing you ever do is gonna make up for that._ She knows, she knows, she’ll keep coming back as long as Chloe keeps letting her, as long as she can take that _second_ or two of orgasm to feel something besides loathing. She can never make things right. She can only make Chloe keep hurting her until something snaps. That’s all that she deserves.

“Answer me.”

Victoria buries her face in her hands and lets out another pathetic whimper.

“Jesus Christ, you’re some kinda masochist.”

Chloe’s right again.

“Get the hell out of here.”

Victoria nods, she has to follow Chloe’s orders, she has to, because she can’t think of anything else to do. She reaches down and pulls her panties up, shuddering as they pass over wet skin. She turns away and stumbles out the door, her nerves still singing, goosebumps still on her skin. She doesn’t even look at Chloe.

As she’s leaving, she hears Chloe hit something, hard, and shout a throaty “Fuck!” into the night. Her fault. Like everything else.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I feel so clearly, the tether's fraying_   
>  _And my only comfort's threatening to tear me limb from limb_


	4. Lilting Through a Life Shared

Victoria lies in bed and imagines.

Not sleeping alone. Not waking up alone. Not always _being_ alone. Chloe’s body next to hers. Or behind her, yes, that’s better, an arm wrapped around her waist, nose touching the back of Victoria’s neck. Warmth, pressure. She and Nathan would sleep like that, occasionally. Nights when they were too fucked-up to go to their separate rooms, nights when they curled up in a corner somewhere, exhausted from managing everything from the party before. Somehow, it had never seemed like more than it was; Nathan never got the wrong idea. Maybe he knew, too, even if Victoria never told him as much.

Still thinking about Nathan. About how he, and Chloe, are the only ones who understand you. What does that say about you, exactly?

You don’t deserve this shit you’re dreaming about. Chloe’s never gonna give you fucking _aftercare_ , not the way you just fucked. All you should want is what Chloe already gave you. It’s all a cockroach like you is owed.

Her phone buzzes on her desk, and she remembers that it’s a Friday night and it’s not even twelve yet. She shouldn’t be trying to sleep, she should be organizing things, doing homework while waiting for a party to start, something. She’s kept on top of that, mostly, until now. Even with twenty-five hundred in the hole, she knows she can crawl back up and assume command again. But can that wait until tomorrow? When the ache between her legs is gone?

Buzz. Well, no. Victoria doesn’t get that privilege.

She sighs and rolls out of bed, then tries to read past the cracks in her screen. Courtney.

 _Yo, V, you in your room?_ _  
_ _VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV_

She’s gonna keep sending texts until Victoria answers, so she just sends back a _Yeah_ and waits for the reason. Instead, she hears a knock at her door. She lets out a little groan. So nothing remote, today. It’s all gotta be in person. Fantastic.

She smooths down her satin pajamas, breathes, then opens the door to find Courtney looking very expectant. “Shit, did I wake you up?” she says immediately, taking a step back.

“Whatever. What’s up?” Victoria steps aside and lets Courtney in.

Courtney closes the door behind her first, then says, “Evan wants acid.”

“Evan?” Victoria snorts. “Man, he’s gotta be desperate if he’s willing to talk to us. I thought he was too cool for the Vortex Club.”

“He wants to ‘expand his mind’ and ‘go on a journey’ and some shit,” Courtney says, giggling to herself. “He gave me three hundred.”

Victoria wishes she was drinking something so she could do a spit-take. “You told him it’s not unicorn dick, right?”

“He said to just give him back whatever was left,” Courtney says with a shrug. “So, keep it all?”

Victoria considers for a moment. That’d certainly help the hole in her pocket. But even if Evan’s a seriously annoying hipster (way worse than Max was, if she’s honest with herself), he doesn’t deserve to be robbed quite that hard. “How much did he want?” Victoria asks as she steps into her closet and finds a sheet of paper, wrapped in tinfoil, sitting above everything else.

“I think just one trip. Like he’s experimenting, something like that.”

“All right, max he’s getting is a hit and a half then, ‘cuz he’s new and I don’t need some tripping moron pointing at me when someone asks why he thinks he’s a glass of orange juice,” Victoria declares as she sits down at her desk and peels back the foil.

“C’mon, wouldn’t it be hilarious, though? Can you imagine Evan getting all-” Courtney begins, but Victoria cuts her off with a curt, “No.”

“Remember what happened last time with that Kate shit? We are like one fuckup away from getting banned. We’re playing it fucking cool.” Victoria takes her scissors from her desk drawer and carefully cuts one and a half notes off of the music-sheet print.

“Right, sorry, you’re the boss.”

Victoria cuts off a small piece of the foil and wraps it around Evan’s dose, then swivels in her chair and holds it out to Courtney. “So that’s one and a half, with the fact that Frank skipped town and the dipshit surcharge...let’s say fifty?” Victoria would charge Courtney half that, normally, but with her supply cut off and a huge, stupid payment just made, she thinks she can justify this.

“Aw, but I want three hundred dollars...”

“Courtney,” Victoria warns.

“Fine, sorry, just thought—”

“If I hear that Evan didn’t get his change back—”

“Sorry!” Actual panic has surfaced on Courtney’s face, and Victoria figures that’s enough.

“It’s fine, just hand it over.”

Courtney rummages in her jacket for the wad of cash and peels off the fifty. Victoria presses the dose into her hand once the money’s on her desk. “All right, cool, that’s done with,” Courtney says, looking nervously at Victoria. “So, uh, set a date for the next party yet? That Halloween thing was killer, but—”

“Thanksgiving? Think there’ll be enough people sticking around?”

“Depends on how awesome we make it sound.”

“I’ll think about it,” Victoria promises. “Anything else we gotta deal with, or you done?”

“Uh...” Courtney shrugs. “Nothing else...”

Victoria thinks for a minute. She could just throw a quick glare at Courtney and get this conversation over with, but something else gnaws at her brain. “Where’s Taylor been?” she asks, finally.

“Oh, uh, she’s been kinda...” Courtney waggles her hand. “Since the whole Max and Nathan thing. I think she’s visiting with her mom today.”

Victoria wants to ask, _Does she miss me?_ She knows she’s been absent. A bad friend. Like Chloe said. Maybe she could be better. Maybe then she’d deserve what she’d thought about.

_Nothing you ever do is gonna make up for that._

The question dies on Victoria’s lips. “Tell her to text me next time you see her,” she says eventually, trying to put that “and don’t ask me why” tone into her voice. Courtney nods.

“You wanna come over to my room tonight? We’re having a little, like, movie night kinda thing,” Courtney asks.

“No, I’m wiped out. Shitty sleep,” Victoria says. “You can leave now,” she adds after a second of Courtney looking worried.

“Right, right, seeya, Tori!” Courtney practically bounds out of the room.

Victoria puts the acid back in her closet, stuffs the money into her wallet. As she turns off the lights and falls back into bed, she shifts onto her side, laying her palm on the pillow. Like this? Against Chloe’s side, leave a hand right here, on her chest? Did Chloe let Rachel do that? Was it the other way around?

Everyone liked Rachel. Everyone fears Victoria. But they had so much in common, they were competing queens, and yet. Was it just that Rachel was _nice_? Was that all? Was that why she could command Chloe and Frank’s love, why she drew Nathan to her, why she was always so much better than Victoria? Shit, people even liked Max, despite everything. Is that all it takes, for people to like you? Taking an interest, being kind, even if you’re dumpy and get shit grades and take nothing but selfies?

Victoria’s never gotten the hang of it.

_Good luck, Vic. It’s drilled into your bones._

She never will. The closest thing she’ll get is Chloe’s rage, her grief-addled lust, and her pity.

She reaches beneath her waistband, despite how raw she is, despite the fact that she just got the real version of this. She still deserves more. She needs more.

 

* * *

 

Still, when she gets a text from Taylor the next day, that little spark of hope returns. That she can somehow be better. That Chloe’s voice, in her head, is the product of another person who’s just as fucked-up as she is, not the truth of the universe or some shit. But finding a way to even start, to try and not be such a shitty fucking human being, isn’t easy.

All Taylor’s text reads is _Courtney said to text you?_ and Victoria knows what that means. Taylor thinks this is an order, that she fucked up somehow, that the queen is gonna roll up and ask for her head. She wonders if Taylor’s forgotten, that night when Victoria met her in her room when her mom was having surgery, and just...just was there. Victoria sure forgot, when her brain was stuck on Nathan, and Max, and Rachel, and then on Chloe, and then on pain and guilt and sex.  

So what the hell does she send back? How do you even ask someone if they’re okay? Is it that simple, do you just ask? Even when everyone knows you’re a controlling bitch, digging for dirt?

She sits on her couch and thinks, staring into the cracks on the screen like there’s something tiny written on them that can give her the answers. Like Chloe’s ability to speak the truth can magically infuse itself into things.

_This how you and Nathan used to talk? Must’ve been a tight bond, there._

She and Nathan never really talked, not that much. It was always more like venting at each other. Shouting at the world and knowing that someone else was sharing your voice. She thought that meant that they understood each other, but, shit, she was as blindsided by his killings as everyone else. So clearly, Chloe _is_ right. She doesn’t know shit about being a friend.

Fuck. Why even try? She’s worthless, she’s always going to be, she can’t help anyone. She thought she was helping Nathan. She thought she could help Chloe, when she brought up Max, tried to understand. Look where that went.

She should be in pain. She should be bloodstained, like Chloe said, so the whole world knows what a monster she is, and maybe that means she should just be bleeding right now, maybe she should take that fucking switchblade and—

A knock at the door. “Victoria? It’s Taylor.”

Breathe, Victoria. Maintain control. _Try._

She gets up and opens the door, beholding a very nervous-looking Taylor, her eyes downcast. “Um,” Taylor begins, “So, uh, what did you want to talk about?”

“H-hey. Come in.” Victoria tries to keep the bite out of her voice, keep everything from the past week inside, tries to be the way she was the last time she and Taylor really talked. When she let her defenses down, for a friend.

Taylor steps in, jittering, now, and Victoria remembers, _anxiety_. That’s Taylor’s problem, it always has been, and when it happened at night and there was no one else around, Victoria could ease it. She remembers. She’s not worthless, she’s not a bad friend. She’s not.

“Vic—”

“Your mom okay?”

Victoria can see all the tension drain out of her, and it feels _good_ , to watch Taylor relax. Victoria walks behind her and closes the door as Taylor breathes out a sigh, and says, “Yeah. Yeah, actually, she’s doing really good. She’s going back to work soon.”

“And...” Victoria takes a seat on the couch, looking up at Taylor. She can do this. It can’t be that goddamned hard. “And what about you?”

“W-what do you—”

“Jesus, come on and sit down, I’m not gonna bite,” Victoria says automatically, irritation flaring in her, and then she bites her tongue. Fucking idiot. Control your bitchy mouth.

As Taylor obediently sits beside her, Victoria mumbles out, “Sorry,” and puts a hand to her forehead. “It’s just—Courtney said you’ve been kind of out of it, since...since Nathan.” Taylor takes in a shuddering breath, and before she can start, Victoria takes the leap and adds, “And I kinda have been, too.”

“Oh.”

That’s all? That’s all Taylor has to say? Victoria looks over at her, and she’s kneading her nails into her thighs, through her jeans. She wonders if she still scratches at her wrists, what she’d find if she pulled back Taylor’s sleeves. But Taylor’s lip is quivering. She’s trying to say something.

“It’s—it’s just...” Taylor swallows. “We knew, right? We knew he was acting weird and creepy. He kept pestering us to post that video, he got angry all the time, he, he...is it our fault?”

Victoria wants to say _no_ but...but she can’t lie. Not now. “I’ve...I’ve been thinking the same thing,” she admits quietly.

“Tori...”

“I was his best friend, and I didn’t—I had no fucking idea, I’m such a fucking _idiot—_ ”

Taylor’s hand darts out and takes Victoria’s, holding tight. It feels like an electric shock, this sudden, comforting contact. Victoria realizes that she hasn’t been non-violently touched in...in a long time. It’s warm.

Neither of them talk for a minute, Taylor trying desperately to start but unable to control her hyperventilation, Victoria’s mind spiraling downward. Is this what you want to do, with Chloe? Hold hands and talk about how shitty your life is, like she’ll let you, like she didn’t shoot you down exactly the way you deserved? And why are you even thinking about her? Taylor’s the one who’s right here, who’s sharing your exact fucking problems, and all you can think about is that fucking punk chick who hangs out in a junkyard and hate-fucked you once. Useless. Selfish. Bitch.

After a while, she feels Taylor scoot closer to her, pressing her side against her. It feels easier to breathe.

“Thanks, Tori,” Taylor mumbles.

“For _what_?” Victoria spits.

“You’re here for me. Again. I...I know it’s hard for you.”

Stop it. Stop giving me credit for failing. Don’t look up to me, don’t like me, don’t.

“Sometimes...it’s just nice to know that I’m not alone. When I think like this.” Taylor rubs the back of Victoria’s hand. Stop thinking about Chloe, doing that to you. Stop making this a fucking test-run for something that will never happen. Stop being so selfish and be there for Taylor, not for you.

But Victoria, as ever, has no idea what to say to make that happen. She never got the hang of it. Somehow, though, Taylor doesn’t seem to mind. Like just being close, and sharing this together, is enough to soothe her nerves. She’s not shaking anymore. It’s just like last time, when all Victoria did was show up and sit beside her in the dark as she babbled out her worries and her fears and her tears. All Victoria could do back then was a hand on her shoulder, a listening ear. Is that really enough to calm these kinds of demons? If she tells Taylor about everything that’s happened this week, would that take away the drive that’s telling her to hurt herself right now? Or is Victoria just too fucked up for that to work?

She can’t force the words out. Now it’s not Chloe’s voice in her head, it’s her own, or her parents, or every other part of her life that screams at her, _Don’t tell anyone. They’ll use it against you. It’s disgusting, and no one should ever know, not if you want to be somebody in this world._

“Do...do you want me to leave?” Taylor asks as Victoria stares down at her legs and shakes.

No, because her hand is warm and her voice is soft and sharing this moment feels so necessary. Yes. Yes, because, somehow, this is just confirming everything. This was supposed to prove that Victoria isn’t worthless, but the way she thought about it, all along, like it’s a performance, like she can just do one thing and everything will be solved, that all proves the opposite. Really kind people, really worthwhile people, they don’t do good things just to make themselves feel better. They just do them, like Taylor’s doing, right now.

Victoria chokes on her answer, so Taylor hugs her. Victoria’s not sure what to do with her arms. She feels stiff, like she’s not doing it right, when she raises them to hug her back. But Taylor doesn’t care, because she’s good. She always had to be pushed into Victoria’s vindictive bullshit. She never started it herself.

“Tori,” Taylor begins as she pulls away, hands still on Victoria’s shoulders. “You know you can call me if you ever need to talk, right?”

She wants Victoria to look into her eyes and nod and say yes, so she does, even though she doesn’t mean it. Taylor doesn’t deserve to get wrapped up in this. She has no responsibility for Nathan, Max, Rachel. It’s all on Victoria. And all the consequences fell right onto Chloe.

“I...I need a little time alone,” Victoria says after letting Taylor rub her shoulders for a minute. “Thanks, Taylor.”

“Anytime.” Taylor’s voice is so quiet, and there’s something else in it, and it makes Victoria think, _maybe._ Maybe she’s like Victoria, maybe she actually likes her, maybe Taylor has her own little secret attractions. But even if she does, Victoria couldn’t accept them. The only one she deserves, in that area especially, is Chloe.

So that’s how she ends up here again. Staring at the gates of American Rust.


	5. To Leave Two Woebegone...

Chloe is not in the mood for Victoria today.

And that doesn’t mean she’s in the mood to tear into her again, it doesn’t mean she wants to reduce her to a sobbing mess and throw her out. It means that as soon as she pokes her pretty little face into the doorway of the hideout, Chloe says, “Nope!” and vaults out the window. Lalaland this way.

The gun in her waistband scrapes against her back as she power-walks down the train tracks, wilfully ignoring the sound of Victoria’s footsteps. She almost bites down on the cigarette between her teeth, arms shaking at her sides. Christ, she can already hear Victoria _breathing_ behind her, she must’ve busted out into a sprint, on a train track, in heels. She’s so fucking desperate. If Chloe looks at her, she’s gonna throw up.

“Go the fuck away, Chase,” Chloe warns. But she knows she won’t, not until she gets what she wants. Because that’s what she’s been doing all along. “I’m not gonna be your combination dildo and razor blade, you fucking psychopath.” She takes the cigarette out of her mouth and shakes the ash off the end, then takes a long, nasty drag, feeling the burn in her throat. She’s probably smoked forty of these damned things since she came here this morning, and her fingers are twitching like crazy, but still she wants to fill her lungs with tar.

Victoria’s still not _saying_ anything. She’s trying, clearly. Chloe can hear her breath shudder, stop, and fail every couple of steps as she tries to keep up with Chloe’s relentless stride. But what the fuck is she gonna say? Is she gonna needle at Chloe again, try and get her pissed off enough to pin her to a tree and fuck her? Well, that’s not happening. Chloe’s done that once, and the bruises on her knuckles are a constant reminder that that didn’t solve anything. It sure as shit didn’t feel good to see her after that.

But, God, what can Chloe even do to shake this fucking parasite off her back? If she beats the shit out of her, she might _like_ it. And she doesn’t care about getting shot. Clearly. So that threat’s a bust. And Chloe doesn’t want to shoot her anymore, because it really isn’t her fucking fault. She’s as fucked up as Chloe is over all this. She’s just some dipshit rich kid who was always sure her actions had no consequences, who never really knew what the hell she was messing with. Victoria already knew that. She said as much the first time they talked.  Chloe hasn’t been speaking truth to her, hasn’t been sticking it to the man. She’s just been using Victoria as a punching bag, like Victoria always did to her and every other person who was ‘beneath’ her at Blackwell.

Jesus, she’s still not saying anything. Still following Chloe around like a lost puppy. This is Chloe’s fault. Just like Max was.

She finally stops in her tracks and pivots to face her, shoving her back with one hand, tearing the cigarette out of her own mouth with the other. “Chase, how fucking clear do I have to make this? Stay the fuck away from me.”

“Chloe,” is the first word out of Victoria, and it sounds the same as when Chloe forced her to say it last night, and self-hatred flares in her brain and comes out as rage.

“Fuck. Off.” Chloe grabs a handful of that expensive sweater and brings her close, sees the muscles on Victoria’s face tighten. She’s probably getting wet already. Sick shit. “You invaded my fucking space. Rachel’s space. You shit all over my fucking junkyard, and now you _want_ something from me?”

Victoria’s eyes seem to vibrate in her skull, darting away to dodge Chloe’s stare. “S-sorry,” she stammers.

“For what? You’ve got so fucking much to be sorry for,” Chloe sneers. But, no, stop, this won’t _work_. She likes it when you do this, in some twisted way. She’ll keep coming back as long as you keep paying attention to her. But it’s not like Chloe’s lying, either, not like when she was deliberately spinning bullshit to make Victoria cry. The junkyard felt wrong this morning, knowing what she did to Victoria in it. Victoria showing her face again just confirmed it. It’s ruined.

She lets go of Victoria and turns around again, sick of looking at her stupid face. But the reality of what she said to Victoria is stopping her from moving. Because, where is she going? There’s nowhere, not anymore. Everywhere in this town is covered in shit. Bad memories. Or good ones, of dead people.

She feels it coming. Like when she had to pull her truck onto the shoulder this morning. But she can’t. Not in front of Victoria fucking Chase.

“Chloe,” comes from behind her. “Are you okay?”

Chloe bursts into laughter.

 _“Am I okay?”_ she repeats, clutching at her stomach and gasping. “Oh, that’s fucking rich, Chase, just like you, that’s fucking hilarious.” She puts a hand to her face and slumps her shoulders, because she’s not sure if the tears are still coming, because she’s been waiting for someone to ask that for a long time and of course, the girl who’s using her as a spiked sex toy is the one who finally did.

“I-I’m serious.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are. I’m sure you want me to tell you fucking everything so you can throw it back in my face. Because that’s what you do. This is why Rachel always fucking hated you,” Chloe spits, even as she feels Victoria’s hand on her shoulder. “She never said so in public, oh, no, that was just for me. She could spend all day bitching about you.”

Why isn’t it _working?_  Victoria barely seems to be hearing her. Another tactic. Make her go away. “Did Max hate your ass, too? I bet she did,” Chloe seethes, wrenching away from Victoria’s touch. “I bet everyone fucking hates you, even if they don’t say so. You think you’re on top now, but nobody’s ever gonna talk to you again the second you leave that school.”

“I know.”

 _Dammit_. You’re just falling into the same trap again, Price. Is this all you can do? Lashing out always works on everyone else. It keeps them out of your fucking space. Everyone but this broken bitch.

And the worst part is, that means she’s the only person in the world who wants to see you right now.

“B-but that’s not what I asked.” Victoria’s voice is hesitant.

“What, used to everyone asking how high when you say—”

“Stop it.”

Chloe looks back at Victoria. She’s stiff, shivering a little, but there’s a strange firmness in her eyes now. “Stop deflecting me,” Victoria says, like an order.

“How’re you gonna make me? What can you do, huh?”

Victoria has no answer. And Chloe’s tired. Tired of slinging barbs at her, tired of the rage that’s been in her bones since this morning. It all seems to drain out of her at once in a long sigh as she stares into Victoria’s questioning gaze. Not her fault she’s like this. She might even be trying to get better, the way she asked about Max, the way she’s actually trying to _talk_ to her now. Maybe she’s tired, too.

Chloe collapses into the groove of the tracks, resting her back against the metal. “You can’t do anything to me,” she says quietly. “Not anymore.”

To her surprise, Victoria sits down right next to her, apparently not giving a shit about getting dirt on her outfit. She puts a hand on Chloe’s shoulder again, and she’s too goddamned tired to take it off.

“Are you okay?” she asks again.

“I’m outta cigs.”

That’s a problem Victoria can solve. She slides her hand off of Chloe, pulls a pack out of her purse and lets Chloe take one. And it’s funny, but as they light up together, smoke hazing the midday sun, Chloe feels a little less like screaming.

Victoria’s not pushing, not anymore, and that makes being near her seem not completely intolerable. Probably because it’s the first time since Max’s death that she’s been near someone who isn’t actively fighting against her, or getting ready to. She wonders if this is what Victoria was seeking out, that first time that she came to the junkyard and sat beside Chloe. She wonders if this is what Victoria and Nathan had been like. It’s not so different from similar, silent moments, out here with Rachel. Life sucks. Sometimes, you need someone close by who gets that.

“We are fucked up,” Chloe says after a few minutes like that. It feels like the only thing to say. _We’re_ fucked up, not _I’m_ fucked up, or _you’re_ fucked up.

“I think we’ve established that by now.”

Chloe thinks about asking, _You still wanna fuck?_ But Victoria doesn’t, not the way she’s looking now, not the way she’s talking, and it would just bring them right back to fighting each other, trying to control each other, and Chloe is so goddamned tired. Of everything. Of this week, of this month, of this whole shitty year. This whole shitty life.

It’s strange to think that the only other person who gets how bad it all is, who really understands it, is Victoria fucking Chase. Nobody else was this close to everything, but not dead or a monster. Sure, Victoria was always a bitch. Rachel said so. But Rachel had said other things about her, too, said that if she just fucking relaxed she’d probably be okay. That occasionally, they could talk when Victoria’s defenses were down, and she was basically just like everyone else. Trying too hard to impress someone, or everyone. Scared out of her mind that she’s not good enough.

Chloe wonders if Victoria remembers those conversations, or if Rachel made them up so she’d have something nice to say about everyone. But even if they didn’t happen, Chloe’s seen it. She tried to minimize it, tried to have someone else to blame, to have someone still around that she could attack. But Victoria had to ruin it all by being a person.

“You feel any better about this Nathan shit after I fucked you?” Chloe asks.

Victoria just sighs. “No.”

“Me neither. This therapy clinic we’re running sucks. Someone should shut us down.”

Victoria laughs quietly, the cigarette shaking in her hand.

“You think that you can get it out if you just vent,” Chloe says, more to the air than to Victoria, “Like there’s some kinda limited supply you can run out, and you’ll be normal.”

“Or if you take enough pain, somehow it’ll loop back, and stop hurting,” Victoria answers.

“You a cutter, too?”

Victoria shakes her head.

“Well, I can say this: shit doesn’t work for long.” Chloe traces the scars under her wristbands.

“Neither does venting. If it ever worked.”

“That what you and Nathan did? Just bitched?”

“Mostly. Sometimes, I don’t know, other stuff. Usually when we were too fucked-up to be mad anymore, or too tired.”

Victoria tips over a bit, laying her head on Chloe’s shoulder. Well, that’s fucking presumptuous. But it still feels kinda nice. Like when Chloe and Rachel would have a big argument, and they’d run out of things to say, so Rachel would just get close and things would be okay. Nothing’s resolved, but it hurts a little less. A painkiller, not a bandage.

Chloe and Max never really argued. Not about anything important. Sure, to other people, they could sound like they hated each other, but they’d be laughing by the time they finished their strongly-worded statements about which cut of Blade Runner was the best one. Chloe wonders if they would have ever fought. If Max hadn’t dropped off contact. If Max had reconnected with her when she came to Blackwell. Well, probably then. Chloe wouldn’t have let that one go easy. She never lets anything go without a fight.

That’s why she’s out here so early, after all.

“So what was the plan?” Chloe asks. “Just, come out here, get hate-fucked, go back home? Like nothing happened?”

“I don’t know,” Victoria admits. “I wasn’t thinking that clear.”

“I thought planning shit out was your whole thing.”

“Not with this.” Victoria shrugs. “I tried to pretend it was. Like I could control you, too, somehow.”

“You got me to fuck you.”

“It didn’t go like I planned.”

“Results are all that matters, right?”

“I kind of wanted you to kill me when I came back this time.”

“Man, you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.”

Victoria lets out a giggle, then looks confused at herself. Chloe grins.

“What? That’s why it’s called suicide,” Chloe points out.

“You’re joking about this. Like it’s no big deal.”

“Eh, you think about it enough, try enough times, it’s just normal.”

“You’ve...you’ve tried?”

“Gotten reeeeal close. Rachel pulled me out of it, usually. Sometimes it’s like a goddamn Three Stooges sketch, though, like you’re about to do it and then shit just randomly gets in the way and you forget what you were so fucked-up about. Like when I heard you pull up that first time.”

“You were—”

“Why’d you think I had the gun in my hand, jackass?”

Victoria pales and looks down.

“Some of us have been dealing with this kind of shit for years, you know. Listen to us old pros,” Chloe advises.

“I...I had no idea.”

“Why would you? We’re basically strangers. You probably don’t even know who my step-dad is.”

“Who—”

“David Madsen.”

“That creepy-ass security—”

“Yup. Guy who kicked me out of the house this morning.”

“Wait, what?” Victoria looks back up.

“Yep. I’m homeless now!”

“Chloe—”

“He got something up his ass this morning about me getting a job or he’s gonna kick me out, so I decided to show him how that’s gonna end up.” Chloe’s heart pounds in her chest, because she knows that this part _isn’t_ normal, that she’s made a hell of a decision by leaving her phone at home and running off and knowing that she can’t come back. But she was so fucking angry, that morning. David had no fucking clue what it was like. He didn’t even know Max and Chloe were friends before. Bitching at her for ‘moping’, for being ‘distant,’ accusing her of going out and dealing drugs. No idea. He’s never gonna get it. She can’t stay in that fucking house anymore.

“Do...do you have a place to stay?”

Chloe’s mind snaps back into action, the word _NO_ blaring like a klaxon in her skull. This can’t happen again. She can’t get close to someone again, they’ll die, they always fucking die, or they leave her first, and then they die. She sure as shit can’t cozy up to this crazy chick, the two of them mixing would be even worse than when Chloe dragged two perfectly good girls into the fucking grave.

But she can’t freak out. She can’t make Victoria care about her more than she already does, that’d make it a thousand times worse. Play it cool, Price.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, shifting away from Victoria’s head and waving her hand dismissively. “I got a truck.” (With less than a quarter-tank in it. And no money.)

“Chloe—”

“We’re not friends, Vic. I said I’ll be fine. Look, just—” Chloe stands up and faces away, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “This should be the end, all right? I’m not coming back here anymore. I’m getting out of this fucking town. Go back to your life. Get your shit together. Forget me.” She starts walking. Away. Far away.

“...my room’s 221. I’ll wait up for you.”

“You’ll be waiting a while.” Chloe takes the spent cigarette and tosses it beneath her feet as she goes. “Seeya, Chase.”

Chloe doesn’t look back for a long time. Victoria’s still sitting there. When their eyes meet, Victoria looks away, stands up, brushes herself off. Chloe’s not satisfied until she sees her headed in the opposite direction.

Chloe’s not sure where she’s going, herself. To get lost in the woods, maybe. To die, maybe.


	6. ...And Torn

The first night isn’t so bad.

It’s warm-ish, and Chloe can just lay herself across the seats in her truck and stare at the sky through the driver’s side window, her jacket beneath her head. She can remember nights in the back, nesting with Rachel in a ragtag collection of jackets, blankets, and pillows pulled from both of their rooms. They would each claim to be staying over at the other’s place, and find some quiet place to park, and then they’d be free of everyone and everything else. For a while.

She does wish, after her back starts cramping, that she’d been smart enough to grab literally anything before storming out of the house. But it’s too late to go back on that, just like it’s too late to call Max. Everything’s in motion, and there’s nothing she can do to stop that now. She knows where this is heading, and somehow, it seems all right to just wait for it to come. She wonders if the hunger will do it first, or the guilt, or the loneliness, or the regret. This time, no one will get in the way. She has no phone. No friends. No family. The question is just _when_.

She dreams of stars forming new constellations above her head, in the shape of the faces of the dead.

The next day is spent wandering. Not anywhere near the junkyard, or the lighthouse. She wonders, idly, as stormclouds roll overhead, if she could die of hypothermia out here in the woods. If she gets lost. But she won’t. That was something Rachel always liked. She could always find her way back to the truck, no matter how fucked up they got, searching for firepits and abandoned houses and other lost moments, drinking a little bit along the path, smoking a little bit when they found a nice rock or a nice view. No, Chloe’s always refused to let something else hurt her, when she could just do it herself. She’s not like Victoria, seeking out another to punish her. If you want something done right, after all.

Despite the pain in her gut, Chloe doesn’t think of actually going out and finding something to eat, finding a way to solve that basic problem. She doesn’t want to prolong this period and ruin the clarity. Besides, the woods of the Bay are beautiful. She could spend the rest of her life, however long that’ll be (she’s guessing maybe one more day), in this eerie silence under the growing storm.

She spots a lone doe wending through the trees, and follows it quietly until it notices her. When it does, it doesn’t bolt, like she’d expect. It gives her a long, hard look, and then changes its direction, trotting quite purposefully. Chloe stops for a moment, and the doe stops a second later, looking back at her, one ear flicking. When Chloe takes a step toward it again, it turns and keeps trotting.

_Am I tripping already? I thought hallucinations were third day_ , Chloe thinks, but she follows the doe anyway, because she doesn’t really have a better plan, and this is fucking weird. It leads her on a winding path around cliffs and edges and clearings, the world silent but for its hooves crunching down fallen leaves, followed at every step by Chloe’s boots. It seems to know exactly where it’s going, and as Chloe follows it, the area starts to seem a little familiar. She can’t quite place it for a long time, though, not until she can see the cold white light of the lampposts outside of the Prescott Dormitories, shining through the scraggly limbs of the trees.

The doe stops at the edge of the woods, sitting down at the Tobanga, tail flicking idly as Chloe approaches it. The light’s fading out from the day, but when Chloe gets close enough, she can still see a hint of blue in the eyes of the doe, just before its body freezes. As Chloe reaches out to touch it, it stands up and runs off, bounding away through the woods, into the darkness.

Chloe shivers, from the cold, from the hunger, from the doe. She looks at the entrance to the dorms. No kids are milling around, not in this weather. The light from within is warm. Too warm.

_My room’s 221._

No.

Chloe turns and heads back into the wild, back towards her truck. Victoria’s not hers to burden, and no matter what hallucinatory bullshit experiences she has, that’s not gonna change. This is the end. It’s a long, slow end, and it’s gonna be all right when it’s finally over. She feels numb as the first raindrops start dripping through the trees, as thunder rolls over her head. By the time she’s climbing back into her truck, she’s soaked, hugging herself as she turns the key and tries to get the heater going.

But it only comes out of one vent, and she can’t waste too much gas, so when it’s barely reached tolerable she has to turn it off again. She thinks of stripping off just so she’s not so gross, but she also didn’t bring a change of clothes. As she shivers and tries to wipe the water from her face, she discovers that she’s sobbing.

It’s strange, but the cold and the wet and the sound of the rain have been drowning out everything else for so long that she’s just kind of assumed that the pain in her chest and the heavy breaths were part of it all. This is supposed to be calm. It’s supposed to make sense to die out here, it’s not supposed to be like other times, shaking and crying and unable to pull the trigger. She wants it to be _clear_ , that this is what she has to do, not like before, not like always, it can’t be like that or she’ll fucking chicken out again and have to keep living this stupid, shitty, pointless life of hers.

She leans forward and rests her head on the steering wheel, clutching at her hair with both hands until she thinks she can breathe again. It’s okay. This is part of it. She has to feel like this, so that when the time comes, she can remember that this is her future, and it always will be. There’s nothing else waiting for her out there.

Except Victoria, who would wait up.

No.

She’ll at least have a towel.

_No._

She throws herself against the seat and groans. Stop thinking about her, stop it, stop, you’re a drain on everyone you meet and you are supposed to fucking die.

But that death is supposed to be instant, after a long slow slide, and she’s not gonna do this hypothermia shit. That sounds fucking terrible. So she turns the truck back on and sighs at herself, at her cowardice, again. Maybe she should just run the heater all night, take out the last of the gas. That’d make sure that she can’t chicken out again. But as the headlights flare to life, she catches sight of a deer — no, _the doe_ — staring right through the goddamned windshield at her, blue eyes like LEDs.

“Fuck you,” Chloe says, and the doe turns and flees.

Goddamned tripping. Hallucinations. You’re not just depressed, you’re bug-fuck crazy. You collect mental problems like Pokemon. Drive into the ocean and drown.

But that sounds shitty too. This is crazy. You’re crazy, thinking that suicide’s ever gonna be painless. You should just do it. Right now, take that gun outta the glovebox and do it right fucking now, blow your brains out all over the cab.

Or go and sleep in Victoria’s room and think for a minute or two and see if you change your mind again. Wishy-washy bitch.

Chloe puts the truck in reverse.

It’s a winding path from this trailhead to Blackwell, but Chloe knows where she’s going. She curses at herself, _clingy, desperate, idiot, toxic, trash,_ but she still parks and gets out and stalks her way to the entrance of the dorms. Fuck rain. Fuck Blackwell. Fuck Victoria. Fuck the cold. Fuck everything. Get inside.

She steps in and shudders with relief at the insulated air. The hall’s empty, thank God. She walks down, checking room numbers as she goes, and then she hits 219.

Her face is plastered on the door, a big photo blow-up, one of her selfies. Text sits at the bottom. _R.I.P. Maxine Caulfield, 1995-2013._  Chloe’s breath catches in her throat, one hand darting out to touch those freckled cheeks, like it’ll feel the same, like she’s still here, somehow, not buried off in some foreign fucking city that she and Chloe never shared. Droplets of water roll down the laminated surface and drip off the edge.

The slate has so many little messages on it, so many signatures that they bleed out of the frame and continue down the wall. Burnt-down candles rest at the base of the door. Chloe’s bones fill with mud. Her body is heavy and unresponsive.

She turns around, away from it, away from memories, like it’ll make them go away. She falls, her back against the door, curling her knees up.

( _Chloe sits on the edge of her bed, one finger tangling strawberry-blond hair around it, over and over and over, next to her ear. A brief knock at the door, and Dad comes in, his face a mask of worry._

_“Chloester, you doing okay?” he asks as he sits down beside her, an arm wrapping around her shoulders. “You seem kinda down this morning. Did you and Max have a fight last night?”_

_Chloe doesn’t know how to tell him that this has been happening for a while now, maybe six months, usually for no reason. So she hasn’t, and she hasn’t told Max either, because it’s stupid and it doesn’t make sense and she hates it. But this time, there is a reason, and keeping it hidden from Max this morning had been so awful, it clawed at her chest and left ulcers in her brain, and she can’t imagine keeping it from Dad, too._

_“I...” She pulls back her breath, trying not to have it come out as a sob. “I...I t-think...”_

_Dad doesn’t interrupt. He just waits, smoothing her back._

_“I...last night, when me and Max were going to sleep, I—I t-think...I wanted...” Chloe gulps. How does she say this? To her dad? To anyone, ever?_

_“Sweetie...” he murmurs._

_“I think I like Max.”_

_And she doesn’t have to explain anymore, because he hugs her close, because he gets it, he’s smart and he loves her so much and maybe he’s known for a long time because Chloe thinks she might’ve known for a long time but she’s been ignoring it and hoping it goes away but it didn’t it just got worse and—_

_“Oh, Chloe.” He’s holding her so tight that any other time, Chloe would tell him he’s choking her, but she just whimpers into his shoulder instead. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he says, warmth coloring his voice. “She’s a special girl.”_

_Chloe nods fiercely. “Really really special.” And she cries, because this is going to ruin it, it’s going to ruin everything, Max can’t possibly, Max is going to stop talking to her if she knows—_

_“You know,” Dad says, his voice a low grumble against Chloe’s chest. “I think she might like you too.”_

_Chloe shakes her head. “N-no, there’s no way—”_

_“Why not?”_

_Chloe can’t explain. It’s what her head says. “She just can’t,” she whispers._

_“Well, even if she doesn’t, which I honestly doubt, I think she’ll still be your friend,” Dad concedes. “Max isn’t gonna abandon you, Chloe.”_

_A week later, he’s gone. A week after that, so is Max._ )

A door opens in front of her, and she realizes she’s crying. Again. And when she looks up, it’s Victoria standing there, hair a bit messy, satin pajamas a little rumpled. But she’s there. For some reason.

Victoria bites her lip and looks down the hall, then grabs Chloe’s hand and pulls her to her feet. Once they’re inside her room with the door closed, Victoria steps up to Chloe and runs her hands down her sides. Chloe feels like a puppet, being jerked around like this, but her bones are filled with mud. She can’t move on her own.

“Jesus, Chloe,” Victoria mumbles. “You’re totally soaked.”

“It’s raining,” Chloe says.

“No shit.”

Victoria’s shaking. She’s standing too close, and her face is full of worry and fear. But what she says next is, “I’m glad you came,” and what she does next is step even closer and wrap those awkward arms around her.

( _Chloe’s holding tight to her, begging, pleading, tears running down her cheeks, “Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.”_

_And Max is holding just as tight back, croaking out, “I wish, I wish, I wish.”)_

Victoria doesn’t know how to do this. Chloe wonders if anyone does, but surely some could do better, could feel less nervous and worried and fearful and unpracticed against her. Yet, it feels better, that it’s so hard for her. It means someone’s trying, for her, for Chloe Price, of all people. And at that thought, she forces her own arms upward, splaying out her hands on Victoria’s back.

Victoria’s so warm, Chloe’s almost stopped shivering. But obviously not quite, because Victoria pulls back and swallows and says, “I—I think you should get out of those clothes. I h-have another set of pajamas...”

Chloe can’t help but laugh, because here she is, tear-stained and soaked, in Victoria Chase’s room, coming to her for comfort. “Of course you’d say that.”

“N-no, I mean, just—”

“I know. Haven’t you figured out when I’m fucking with you yet?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever figure you out.”

“Many have tried.”

Victoria laughs a little bit, trailing a hand down Chloe’s arm. “You’re really gonna stay?”

“I’m not going out in that fucking rain again.”

Victoria smiles, small and faded. “Then seriously, you’re not getting my couch wet. Get out of that shit.”

She turns away to get the pajamas out of her closet, and Chloe pulls off her boots and socks, then tosses her jacket on top of them. She feels so much lighter without it, so she keeps going, first the tank top (which feels like she should wring it out but Victoria would probably screech), and then, after a second’s hesitation, her bra. She hears a gasp as she slides it down her arms, and looks up to see Victoria, pink flannel in her hands, staring right at her. It’s probably the piercings. After a moment of eye contact, Chloe cocks her head, like, _Well?_ and Victoria blushes, which really is cute, and walks over to the couch and lays down the pajamas while Chloe struggles with her jeans. As she kicks them on top of the rest of her clothes, she feels Victoria’s hands on her again, hot and hesitant, fingers trailing down her back.

She turns to face her and finds herself in an embrace again, Victoria’s lips a breath away from her own, eyes searching for permission. Victoria can’t say the right things, she’s got no experience there, and not much here, either, but Chloe can feel the desire in her touch, mixed with fear. Chloe breathes in. She closes her eyes and parts her lips and waits.

Victoria kisses her like she’s not sure of exactly what she’s doing, but she’s sure she really wants to do it. ( _Chloe kisses Rachel like that, and the response is so ferocious that her skin burns where they touch._ ) Her nails dig into Chloe’s back as her uncertain tongue probes at Chloe’s mouth and finds wet acceptance. ( _Rachel pushes Chloe onto the bed and straddles her._ ) Chloe pushes Victoria onto the bed and lays beside her. Victoria pulls back when she feels Chloe’s tears.

“I—should we—” she stammers.

“Don’t stop,” Chloe says, because the cold of the storm is melting away as they touch, as they tangle, and the heat’s burning the last two days into ashes. Victoria shifts on top of Chloe, her hands nervously running down her chest, jittering as they pass over her piercings and draw a soft moan from Chloe. _("I’m eighteen now. You think I could get ‘em?” “Do it. It’d be hella sexy.”_ ) Victoria draws a line of kisses from Chloe’s jaw to her collarbone. ( _Rachel sucks at her throat and leaves her raw and gasping._ ) Victoria stops, for a moment, then dares, sinking lower down Chloe’s body and wrapping her lips around her nipple. ( _Rachel nips._ ) Victoria’s tongue is smooth and quiet and soft. ( _Rachel_ **_bites_**.) Chloe’s shoulders clench together as Victoria’s fingers tuck under her boxers. ( _Chloe cries out as Rachel’s hand moves lower._ )

Victoria only grazes her lips for a moment before sitting up and moving aside, pulling Chloe’s underwear the rest of the way off and tossing it with the rest of her clothes. The relief of its cold, wet weight vanishing sends a happy sigh through Chloe. Then Victoria is curled up against her side, one hand wrapping around her shoulders, the other exploring between her legs. Chloe’s eyes are closed, but she knows that Victoria’s watching her, her breath moist on Chloe’s cheek. She wants to see if she’s doing good. And she _is_. ( _Rachel knows she is, she teases and taunts and laughs._ )

Victoria’s fingers slide through her slit. ( _Rachel’s fingers tense and arc and rub._ ) She moves slow, waiting for reactions. ( _Rachel knows just what she’s doing._ ) Chloe chokes as she finds the right spot. ( _Chloe groans as she is overwhelmed._ ) Victoria presses a kiss to her cheek as she slowly ramps up her speed. ( _Rachel bites at her ear and shuts her up._ ) It builds, slowly, certainly. ( _It’s coming and if anything interrupts her she will destroy it._ ) It releases, nothing but a soft rush and a sharp inhale, and she is floating and light. ( _Her muscles are in knots and her breath is fire and her body cries out for more._ )

She breathes hard into the night air, putting the back of her hand against her forehead, and it’s like touching a stovetop. She gently reaches down and takes Victoria’s wrist, moving it up to her chest. Victoria lets out a little sound of contentment as she settles against her side.

“Was it...did you...” she whispers, her words as uncertain as ever.

“Yeah,” Chloe hums, blinking away tears and memories. “Yeah.”

Victoria’s fingertips run between Chloe’s breasts, like she’s pacing, thinking, worrying. “Do...do you want to get dressed?”

“Probably the smart thing to do,” Chloe admits. “But moving sounds hard.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

Victoria gets up and grabs the flannel from her couch, then sits Chloe up, threading her arms through the sleeves, buttoning it up for her. It’s soft against Chloe’s skin, and Victoria’s hands are firm and this feels so intimate that Chloe just wants to close her eyes and revel in the proximity. Victoria asks her to put her legs out over the bed, and she slides the pants up her legs and ties the waistband for her. Another inexperienced kiss pushes her back against the pillows before Victoria shuts off the lights, crawls in beside her, and throws the covers over them.

For a while, staring into the dark, listening to the rain, Chloe can imagine that this is love. That that’s what all this means, Victoria settled against her in the lingering afterglow, the offer of shelter, the quiet comfort she gave. That maybe, despite how fucked-up everything is, Victoria can be beside her for a while and keep her company and keep her from destroying herself.

But eventually, it comes back. The truth, along with the pain in her stomach. She’s taking advantage of this closeted chick, this masochist, this totally broken girl who’s latched herself onto Chloe like a remora. Mooching off her misdirected lust and her grief and her self-hatred to score a lay and a place to stay after she stupidly ran away from home. And Chloe is cursed. That’s the only explanation. She kills the people who love her, who get close to her. Like Dad. Like Rachel. Like Max.

There’s only one way to stop her. She has to do it herself.

She falls out of bed and stumbles for the door, even as Victoria grunts and stirs beside her. “Chloe?” she hears as she lets herself out and starts running. “ _Chloe?_ ” No. Don’t turn back. Don’t stop. Now. Now is the time, or things will just get worse and worse and worse forever, there is nothing in her future but pain and grief and regret.

She bursts through the doors of the dorms and keeps going, bare feet scraping on wet concrete as Victoria keeps calling her name. She’ll end up like Max if she follows. She has to stop. She has to go back to her own goddamn life and forget Chloe ever existed.

The cold seeps back into her body so quickly that it’s almost a shock, but it doesn’t stop her as she runs out into the parking lot and tugs open the unlocked driver’s side door of her truck. She climbs up and reaches blindly into the glovebox, holding the door closed with her other hand as Victoria appears in the window, pulling at the handle and shouting and sobbing and begging.

Her hand finds the gun, and pins it to her temple. She pulls the hammer back, trying to hold on even as Victoria braces her whole weight against the door and pulls. Not this time. No one can stop her.

But as she pulls the trigger, she loses her grip on the door and she falls to the left, the gunshot ringing in her ear as Victoria climbs inside and reaches across her and takes Chloe’s hand in both of hers, trying to force the weapon away.

It’s a silent struggle as blood pours down the right side of Chloe’s face, as white-hot pain courses through her ear. But Victoria is strong, shockingly strong, adrenaline, maybe, and she wrenches the gun from Chloe’s hand and aims it out of the doorway into the blacktop and fires, one, two, three, four, click, click, click.

Victoria throws the gun out of the truck and takes Chloe’s face in her hands and holds her tight, blood staining the hand on Chloe’s right side, but Chloe can barely feel the pain of the barely-missed shot because she’s slumping into Victoria’s chest and crying because William will never see her sweet sixteen, because Max will never astound the world with her talent and her kindness, because Rachel will never light up L.A. and the entire country with her crafted image. Because they’re gone, and Chloe’s still here, Chloe’s still here, and she doesn’t deserve to be. But Victoria doesn’t think so, Victoria’s holding her and trying to say something, anything, but it’s mostly coming out as wordless sobs, until Chloe can make out, “It’s not your fault.”

And Chloe collapses, because no one’s said that yet. Someone needed to, someone needed to tell her that. She falls into Victoria’s waiting arms as she repeats, “It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault,” as red and blue start flashing in the parking lot, lighting up the falling rain.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Someday you'll say, "That's it, that's all,"_   
>  _But I'll be waiting there with open arms to break your fall_   
>  _I know that you think that you're on your own_   
>  _But just know that I'm here, and I'll lead you home_   
>  _If you let me_   
>  _She said, "Forget me,"_   
>  _But I can't._


	7. A Beauteous Mistake

Victoria sits in the waiting room and picks at the dried blood on her sleeve.

She hasn’t done much of anything else. Her mind’s near-blank, shocked into silence before the police even ordered them to come out with their hands up. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep that’s left her so numb, or the cold of her still-damp pajamas, or the questioning session that ended with a warning and a promise of more paperwork after she and Chloe spelled everything out, separated by the hospital walls.

She should ask for a phone, or a ride, something. But she hasn’t seen Chloe since they took her in to patch up what she’d done to her head. She’s not family, she doesn’t have rights until Chloe’s stable, and until she asks. She hopes the first one isn’t the problem. She's fine. She didn’t do it.

She came so close.

The numbness breaks, and the tension in Victoria’s back releases as she slumps forward in her chair and cradles her face in her hands. _It’s not your fault_ , she said, meaning Max, meaning Rachel, because she remembered those words, _Or you’ll end up like Max_ , and she’d seen Chloe sitting against Max’s door and sniffling, and she’d tried to warm her up and make her forget about all that with her hands instead of her words. It’s not her fault. But maybe this is Victoria’s. If she’d been less terrible to Chloe at first, if she’d just talked to her and tried to smooth things over before it all came to a violent, sobbing head, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

Her thoughts are broken by a pair of strong hands on her shoulders. “Hey,” a soft, Southern voice whispers.

Victoria looks up into the face of a middle-aged, hard-lived woman, her strawberry-blonde hair a mess around her shoulders. “You Victoria?” she asks.

Victoria’s throat is dry, so she just nods.

She’s wrapped up in a bear hug instantly, the woman bringing her to her feet with her strength. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“F-for what?” Victoria asks, though she’s starting to think she knows.

“You saved my daughter’s life.” She pulls back, a watery smile on her face. “I’m—I’m Joyce. Chloe’s mom. I put out the missing persons report as soon as she didn’t come back last night, but...but...” She takes in a sharp breath as Victoria trembles, unsure what to say, unsure what Joyce knows (hopefully very little.) “But I wasn’t there for her. You were. I owe you so much.” Joyce wraps her back in a hug, and Victoria doesn’t say anything, but Joyce doesn’t seem to expect her to, either.

“Come on,” she says after a minute. “She wants to see you now. She wasn’t sure you’d stay, but I said I’d look.”

She lets Joyce lead her through the halls until they come to Chloe’s room. Joyce slowly pushes open the door, and Victoria hears Chloe grumbling as Joyce says, “Chloe, I brought you a visitor.”

Victoria nervously edges around Joyce’s frame and sees Chloe, sitting back in her bed, bandages covering most of the right side of her head. She’s hooked up to some kind of monitor by the wrist. And she’s _beaming_.

“Hey, Vic!” she says with a wave. “Like my new haircut? Hella fashionable.” She tilts her head and points to the spot where the doctors had shaved away those fading blue locks so they could stitch up the cut.

“Chloe,” Joyce groans, “Please don’t do this.”

“Seriously, Vic, what do you think, do I fit in with your Vortex Club preps or—”

“ _Chloe_ ,” Joyce says, crossing the room and taking her hand. “Please, don’t.”

Chloe sighs and looks away. “Just...trying to lighten the mood a little. Should I cry and cut myself instead?”

“Chloe.”

“Sorry.” Chloe runs her free hand through what’s left of her hair. “I know, I know.”

Joyce leans down and hugs her, which is quickly looking like a thing she’s doing as a compulsion, and Chloe hugs her back and closes her eyes. “Thanks, Mom,” she says as Victoria awkwardly heads to the chair beside Chloe’s bed. “Really. Now go get some sleep. I need to talk to Victoria.”

“Chloe, no way in hell,” Joyce says. “I’m not—”

“Vic’s gonna be here and I’m hooked up to this stupid life-monitor _and_ they’ve got a nurse checking every ten goddamn minutes. I’m gonna be okay,” Chloe says forcefully. “Go home. You got work today, right?”

“I think they’ll let me off for this, Chloe.”

“Well—I don’t know—Get some fucking sleep!” Chloe sighs. “Come back later, if you really wanna hang around this crappy place and eat their crappy food. But I gotta talk to Vic, okay?”

“Language, Chloe.”

“ _Uuugh_ ,” Chloe moans, throwing her head to the ceiling. “ _Mom._ ”

Joyce looks to Victoria, a defeated smile on her face. “Well, that’s more like the Chloe I know, I guess,” she says. “You watch out for her, okay?”

Victoria nods, forcing an “I will” from her patchy throat.

“I’m calling you as soon as I get home,” Joyce warns, fishing in her pocket and putting down a phone on the tray beside Chloe.

“Fine, fine, just don’t stay up forever,” Chloe says. “Go on. Shoo.”

“Stay safe, Chloe,” Joyce says as she starts to leave.

“We’re gonna talk in like fifteen minutes, mom.”

“A lot can happen in fifteen minutes.”

As the door closes behind Joyce, Chloe leans back into her pillows and breathes out a long sigh. Victoria fidgets with her fingers in her lap. What’s she supposed to say, to someone who just tried to kill herself? What’s she supposed to do?

“Hey,” Chloe says, turning on her side and looking into Victoria’s eyes. “Thanks.”

“I—I didn’t—”

“Don’t you even start with that shit. That was badass. I had a gun, I coulda just shot you, then myself, and then things would’ve sucked even harder. But you just kept coming.”

Victoria looks down. “But...if I hadn’t...I don’t know, it feels like it’s my—”

“If you say it’s your fault I’m gonna fuckin’ slug you.” Chloe falls back onto her back. “Told you before. This shit’s normal for me. Well, it never got quite this far, but it was gonna, one day. You made sure it didn’t kill me. And now I feel fucking stupid for getting so deep.”

“Chloe...you, you were depressed, you were all messed-up over Max and Rachel, you’re not—”

“I mean, I almost left Mom alone with step-dick. That’s a fate worse than death. Asshole move on my part,” Chloe continues, and Victoria’s starting to get the feeling that Chloe really, really needs to talk, and doesn’t need Victoria’s advice or interruptions, so she shuts herself up for a minute.

But Chloe’s silent for a while, so maybe she needs prompting. Victoria tries. “So...where is he?” she asks.

“Mom kicked his ass out, once she figured out why I didn’t come home. Well, that, and during the argument she found his fucking creeper security cameras set up through the whole fucking house,” Chloe seethes. “She told me she felt so guilty, ‘cuz, like, he was fucked-up from what happened with Jefferson too, it was on his watch, and he made it her problem so she couldn’t look after me until...” She slides further into the covers. “Asshole,” she murmurs. “It’s my job to piss her off.”

Chloe reaches up and presses over her bandages, and Victoria has to ask. “Are you okay?” Chloe shoots her a distinctive Look, and Victoria hastily adds, “Physically, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah, this.” She twirls a finger around the right side of her head. “Lost the top of my ear, so no more piercings up there. Otherwise, just a graze, gonna leave a real nasty scar. Might get an undercut, show it off. Oh, and they said something about possible hearing damage on that side, which is lame.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s all it is.”

“Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

Chloe’s quiet for a moment. Victoria scoots closer and puts a hand over hers, lightly, like she’s afraid she’s going to be rejected. Instead, Chloe turns her head back to Victoria.

“Seriously, thanks. You saved me, let me remember that I should still stick around, for my mom, if nothing else. But I—I still kinda wanna die.” Victoria tenses up. “Like, I know you don’t want to hear that, nobody does after shit like that. But it’s the truth, it doesn’t go away. So, like...” Chloe sits up and looks down at her lap, drawing her hand out from under Victoria’s and picking at her blanket. “Don’t think we need to be bonded for life, or something. This is just kinda how I am. You did good, you really did, and if you’ve done shitty things before, I think this does...it does make up for it. You save a life where he ended one, that sorta thing. So...go live your life. Forget about me, let this be the good thing you did, don’t think you need to stick by me and watch me fall in the fucking pit again and again. You don’t deserve that.”

Victoria’s not sure what to say, but she knows that she disagrees with everything Chloe just fucking said. No. No way. She’s not just backing out now. This is not a performance, this is not her redemption, she can’t just go back to Blackwell and act like this never happened. For so many reasons she can’t choose which one to start with. So she just grabs Chloe’s hand again and tries to meet her eyes.

“Seriously, Chase, you can just—”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?” Chloe asks. “I’m—this is all it’s gonna be. Dealing with my brainsick. Forever, until I actually just manage to do it right one day, and then...then you’ll be alone.”

“Bullshit.”

“‘Scuse me?”

“You’re smart as hell and you’ve got so much goddamned spine,” Victoria hisses. “You read me like an open book when we first talked, that’s why I liked it, that’s why I kept coming back. But you can’t turn that on yourself, not totally, all you can see is the shitty stuff. So I’m gonna make sure that you can see the good stuff, too.”

“So, what, you wanna be my best friend, now? Dangerous job. Hundred-percent fatality rate so far,” Chloe says, an edge creeping into her voice.

“That’s _not_ —”

“Not my fault, I know. You can say that, I can say that, I can even believe it for a while, but it doesn’t fucking _stick_.” Chloe’s nearly choking on her anger. “Don’t you get it? I’m broken, Chase, and you can’t fix me, no one can.”

“I don’t need to fix you. But I want you to stay around. And I just proved I can make _that_ happen, no matter how hard it gets.” Victoria tightens her grip on Chloe’s hand. “If I can manage Blackwell and Nathan and the Vortex Club, I can handle you.”

“Why? Why would you want me to stay? All I’ve ever fucking done for you is screw up your life,” Chloe insists, her fingers tensing.

“You get me. Like no one else does, even if you were just seeing the shitty parts of me at first. And...” Victoria softens her grip. “Last night...”

“There’s plenty of girls out there to fuck.”

Victoria grunts with annoyance. “Not what I mean. When...before everything went to shit, lying with you...” It had felt so good. So _right_. To see Chloe in her arms, sighing with pleasure, content under the covers while the rain poured outside. Victoria would give anything for that to last.

“There’s nicer girls to fuck, Chase,” Chloe repeats.

“But they’re not you. And that’s what I want.”

Chloe slumps against her pillows, her free hand going to cover her face.

“You’re really not gonna give up on me, are you?” she mumbles into her palm.

“I’m used to getting what I want, remember?” Victoria edges a little Blackwell Queen into her voice. “I said, I want you. Not some other ‘nicer’ girl.”

“You’re gonna have to come out to all your cronies.”

“Fine.”

“I’m not exactly subtle.”

“I know.”

“Your parents are gonna learn eventually.”

“I’m eighteen, and their only kid. They’re not gonna be able to do shit to me, I’m too important to their legacy. Especially not if you’re next to me, you’d scare the shit out of them.”

Chloe’s making a weird sound, a sort of laugh-crying muffled by her hand. “You are such a bitch.”

“Pots and kettles.” Victoria feels air rising in her chest, a strange movement in her stomach. This could work. It could, in its weird way. She wants it to, so badly, that she’s willing to try anything.

Chloe draws her hand back from her face with a sharp sniff, a crazed smile beneath her tears. “Fine. Fine, you wore me down. One date, in public, no guns, drugs, or fucking. To see if we have literally anything in common besides being classifiable crazy bitches.”

“Name the place and time.”

“Two Whales. Soon as I get out of this shithole. I’ll break into your dorm.”

“You could just text me.”

“And lose my punk cred?”

“You’re going on a date with the preppiest prep in Blackwell.”

“Ouch, Chase, that hurts.” Chloe sits up and scoots closer to Victoria. “But you got a point.” Victoria likes her smile, even if it’s tear-stained, even after all of this. She never really smiled before. Smirks aren’t the same thing.

So she leans forward and kisses that smile, and feels Chloe laugh softly into her mouth. As they part, Chloe flings herself back onto the bed, covering her face with her hand, as if to hide how happy and sad and relieved and beautiful she is.

“This is fucking crazy,” she murmurs. “This is not happening.”

“It is if I have anything to say about it.” Victoria rubs her thumb over Chloe’s hand.

“Well, if I’m gonna text you, put your number in my phone,” Chloe sighs, pointing blindly in the vague direction of the tray.

Victoria reaches over and swipes to unlock the phone, then starts putting herself in as a contact. Just as she saves it, the phone starts buzzing in her hand.

Chloe sits up and takes it from Victoria’s hands, then holds it to her ear and says, “Yeah, mom, I’m still alive, surprising no one.” She glances over to Victoria as she places both hands on Chloe’s free one. “Hey, actually, sorry to be terrible, but can you give Vic a ride back to Blackwell?”

“What?” Victoria asks as Chloe puts her hand over the phone.

“You need to go to class or sleep or something and I need to process that fucking conversation we just had,” Chloe whispers. “I swear to God I’ll be okay for a while. I need sleep too, you know. I’ll text you when I wake up, deal?”

Victoria suddenly feels the weight of the last several hours fall on her shoulders at the mention of the word ‘sleep,’ and all she can do is sigh dramatically and say, “Deal.”

“Okay, so, mom, seriously, you’ll come? Yeah, yeah, you’re grumbling but I can hear you starting the car again. She’ll meet you outside. Be nice to her or she’ll claw you up, she’s known for that. Love you too.”

As Chloe lays the phone down, Victoria comes in for another kiss, and this time Chloe tangles her fingers in the back of Victoria’s hair.

“I’m coming back,” Victoria warns as she pulls away.

“God, no, just wait for me to text you, this place fucking sucks,” Chloe groans.

“Well, if you don’t text me soon, I’m definitely coming back and tearing it apart.”

“Hold me hostage, why don’t you?”

Victoria kisses her again. “You know it.”

“Okay, okay, deal.”

As Victoria gets up and heads for the door, she spares one backward glance. Chloe sits against her pillows, eyes closed, a hand flexing on her chest, a dreamy smile and fresh tears on her face.

Maybe she will be okay, for a while. Victoria will accept that. And if the time comes that she’s not, Victoria will be there to catch her again.


	8. Petrichor

The golden glow of the morning sun isn’t quite enough to warm Victoria up after that long night, but it’s a welcome sight nonetheless as she climbs into Joyce’s car. She doesn’t realize how much her back is aching, how goddamned _tired_ she is, until she sinks into the seat and nearly nods right off until Joyce gently prods her to put on her seatbelt.

“Shoulda brought you some shoes,” Joyce comments as they start leaving the hospital parking lot.

Victoria shrugs. Nothing to be done about that now. She rests her head against the window and stares blankly out at the sun shining on the wet roads.

“So how _do_ you know Chloe? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you before, let alone you and her together,” Joyce asks.

Victoria is not going to tell her everything, she knows that right away. But Joyce is gonna need some explanation for why Chloe was wearing Victoria’s pajamas and trying to kill herself in the Blackwell parking lot.

“We just sort of ran into each other about a week ago,” Victoria says. “Started talking. I dunno.”

“Chloe willingly talked to a stranger? Now that’s a miracle,” Joyce says.

“We sort of knew each other, back when she went to Blackwell. And I was kinda involved in the whole...” Victoria sighs. “The thing that happened. With Max.”

“Oh, that poor girl,” Joyce murmurs. “And poor Chloe and David, having to go through that trial...I knew Max, I’m sure Chloe told you about her. I’m glad she had someone to talk to about it.”

 _Well if you knew how our conversations actually went you might change your mind_ , Victoria thinks, but she bites her tongue.

“Chloe lost both her and Rachel so close together...I knew she wasn’t taking it well, but I didn’t know what to do,” Joyce admits. “She and I...we’ve gotten so far apart over the years. I can’t believe I almost lost her.”

Victoria has no clue what to say to that. As usual. But Joyce takes a breath, refocuses on the road, and asks, “So...how did it happen?”

Okay. Control the flow of information, Victoria. There’s a lot she doesn’t need to know. “She mentioned that she got kicked out, so I said she could stay at my dorm,” Victoria says. “The first night, she was out somewhere, but she came around the second, during the storm. She was—well, she wasn’t fine, but it seemed like she was about to fall asleep, and then she got up and just started running and I just—I had this feeling, like—”

As they pull to a stop at a red light, Joyce looks over to her and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Good instincts.”

“I guess.”

Joyce puts both hands back on the wheel, and the rest of the drive is silent until they pull up next to Chloe’s truck, surrounded by barrier tape in the Blackwell lot. Joyce and Victoria share a shudder at the sight of it.

“Thanks for the ride,” Victoria says as she opens the door, but Joyce is getting out with her. She circles around to Victoria’s side and gives her another big hug.

“Come over to our house anytime,” she offers. “I owe you so much, the least I can do is a home-cooked meal.”

“Okay.”

“And stay safe,” Joyce adds, putting both her hands on Victoria’s shoulders as they separate. “Chloe’s lost enough friends this year.”

Victoria just nods. She’s not going anywhere.

With one last hug, Joyce bids her farewell, and Victoria takes in the Blackwell campus, still waking up as the light of dawn washes over it. A few people mill around the lawn in front of the main entrance, but nobody important. Victoria corrects herself. Nobody she knows well. She’s gonna make for quite a sight, wandering back home just after sunrise, blood on her clothes and bags under her eyes. Well, nothing to be done about it. She’ll handle it.

As she approaches the dorms, Courtney and Taylor detach themselves from the wall they’re leaning against and rush over to her.

“Victoria, what the hell—” Courtney begins.

“We heard the shots, and then there was an e-mail, it said someone tried to commit suicide—” Taylor babbles, overlapping her.

“And we saw your door was left open and you were gone and we tried calling you but your phone was in your room—”

“And the e-mail said a student saved them but they weren’t releasing names—”

Victoria sighs, because she wants to talk to them, she really does, but she’s outside on a cold morning in her bloodstained pajamas and bare feet and she doesn’t want to be doing that anymore.

“Is my room still open?” she asks, holding up a hand.

“Yeah,” they answer at once.

“In there, then? I’m a fucking mess right now, if you didn’t notice.” Victoria gestures vaguely to her entire existence.

“Right,” Taylor says. “Yeah, okay.”

Victoria steps between them and motions them to follow. As soon as she gets into her room, stepping over Chloe’s clothes, she collapses onto the bed and lets out a long sigh. She feels weight shift as Taylor sits on the edge, and turns her head to see Courtney leaning in the doorway.

“Okay. Quick rundown. You know Chloe?”

Courtney makes a face, Taylor shakes her head.

“Well, she’s the one who tried to kill herself. We’ve been hanging out for a while. She needed a place to stay, so I let her in here last night, but then she just ran out to her truck and—well, I stopped her.”

“You’ve been hanging out with _Chloe_?” Courtney says incredulously. “As in, Rachel’s little—”

“Courtney, shut the fuck up.”

Courtney clamps her mouth shut.

“Thank you.”

“So...so what’s with the blood?” Taylor asks, running a hand down Victoria’s arm.

“Well, one of the shots was hers. Really lucky. Only grazed her. The rest was me just kinda...grabbing the gun and emptying it into the lot,” Victoria admits. “Kind of a reflex thing.”

“Wow,” Taylor breathes. “Guess you’re kind of an everyday hero now, huh?”

Victoria groans, thinking back to an anxiety-ridden stay in San Francisco. “That is a terrible pun.”

Courtney checks her phone. “Shit, we’re gonna be late. C’mon, Tay, let’s get to class.”

“I’ll catch up,” Taylor says. Courtney shrugs and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.

Taylor lays down beside Victoria, a hand migrating to her shoulder as she tries to meet Victoria’s eyes. “Tori,” she asks. “Are you all right? That sounds...that sounds so fucking terrifying.”

“I don’t know. I’m a lot of things right now.” Victoria thinks of what she could say to Taylor. Something that would make Victoria herself feel better, the way that talking made Chloe so happy (well, eventually). She almost laughs when she knows what to say, a stupid smile coming to her face. “We have a date.”

Taylor does a double-take. “Uh, what?”

“Me and Chloe. We’re going on a date as soon as she’s out of the hospital.”

Taylor seems pretty unsure what to make of that for a moment, looking into Victoria’s eyes like she’ll find the answer to the universe in there. “You, um...” she begins. “You’re—”

“I’m gay.” Saying that out loud sends her body sinking further into the mattress. Like letting the air out of a balloon that’s been ready to pop for years.

Taylor lets out a sigh of relief. “Hey. Sit up.”

Victoria gathers the will and hoists herself up, finding Taylor at eye level. “Why—”

“So I can hug you.” And Taylor does, and this is getting easier. This feels right, actually, really right, and Victoria has to swallow everything that’s trying to get out of her body in order to maintain it.

Taylor draws back after what was probably too long, a smile on her face. “Okay. Tell me everything.”

Victoria laughs. “That is impossible. Let’s just say we were really fucking shitty to each other, and then we got tired of that, and then...” She shrugs. “I don’t know. We kinda connected.”

“Is...is she okay?”

“No. She’s depressed as hell and — well, Jesus, Tay, she tried to kill herself. But I’m gonna try and _make_ her be okay.”

“You do tend to get what you want...”

“Damn straight.”

Taylor hugs her again. “Okay, but seriously, like, what does she look like, what’s she into...”

Victoria explains what little she knows of Chloe Price. It’s not all that much, she admits, but she’s looking forward to learning more. She can describe her electric-blue hair, at least, her punk aesthetic, her pretty blue eyes and her sexy-ass voice. Her struggles with the deaths in Arcadia Bay, and with her stepfather. She stops short of telling Taylor about the actual sex, though. That’s a little much to process.  Maybe it doesn’t even count.

Eventually, Victoria shoos Taylor back to class. She has to take a shower, after all, and then she has to sleep like the dead. But as she falls to her pillow, naked with her hair still wet, she feels totally refreshed in a way she didn’t think would ever be possible the first time she met Chloe in that damned junkyard.

She’d told Chloe, _It’s not your fault_ , and that’s true, so it must also be true that it’s not Victoria’s fault. She didn’t pull the trigger. She didn’t drug the girls. She didn’t cover up the evidence. She did other, awful things, but she might be able to forgive herself for them. They don’t stab at her quite so badly anymore. And if the last few hours are anything to go by, maybe she can make up for them.

She saved someone’s life. She came out. She finally kissed a girl and she likes her so goddamned much right now. She has a fucking _date_. As fucked up as it is, as fucked up as everything is, Victoria goes to sleep feeling like maybe things will turn out okay.

 

* * *

 

When she wakes up, she finds a text on her phone from an unknown number.

_reconsidered ur poor life choices yet_

She immediately adds it to her contacts, and sends back _You wish._

**Chloe:**

_im not getting dressed up_

_gonna cramp the shit outta your style_

**Me:**

_I can make anything look good._

Victoria takes a look at the pile of clothes still on her floor, Chloe’s clothes, and has a quick thought that brings a smirk to her face.

**Chloe:**

_bold words chase_

_bold words_

_imma test that_

**Me:**

_You don’t need to._

Victoria holds up her phone and snaps a picture of herself. The jeans and tank top and jacket are all still pretty damp, but she can’t help but feel kind of powerful in them.

**Me:**

_See?_

**Chloe:**

_well make a butch out of you yet_

_wait no_

_thats my job_

_youre supposed to be prissypants_

_plus i need my jacket back_

_and my boots_

_u fuckin thief_

_might have to break into your dorm after all_

Victoria laughs to herself, then quickly gets right back out of the rank clothing. Not really her style. But good for a tease.

**Me:**

_So when are you getting out?_

**Chloe:**

_fuck i dunno_

_they want to have a psych evaluation thing_

_probably wanna give me pills_

_ill bs my way through it_

_keep you posted_

_youre still making bad life choices_

**Me:**

_I know, I’m skipping class today._

**Chloe:**

_actually that’s a good one_

_fuck the man_

**Me:**

_I don’t intend to ever fuck any man._

**Chloe:**

_youre hella gay_

**Me:**

_Pots and kettles._

**Chloe:**

_we gotta find a less traumatic couples phrase than that_

_oh shit incoming weepy mom ttyl_

Victoria feels a pleasant tingling on the back of her neck at the idea of a ‘couple’s phase’ between them. Even if they’d mostly spoken it in hatred. So they’re always gonna have a fucked-up origin story, but if they could power past that...well, they will. Any couple Victoria’s in will be a power couple. This date _will_ be perfect and Victoria _will_ have Chloe.

At least, that’s what she tells herself under her breath as she goes for another shower and prepares to spend the day e-mailing teachers about why she’s gone and getting their homework and all that other boring maintenance shit. And she’s gotta manage the plans for the Thanksgiving party. And and and and boring. At least she’ll get to keep texting Chloe.

 

* * *

 

As she steps out of her room to grab dinner, Victoria spots something she doesn’t like.

Courtney’s standing in front of Kate’s door, pen in hand, writing on her slate. She didn’t authorize this. And she wouldn’t. Not anymore. So what the fuck does Courtney think she’s doing?

Victoria marches up to her and snatches the pen right out of her hands. “The fuck is this, Courtney?” she asks, gesturing at the _JESUS LOVED WHORES TOO_ scrawled on the slate.

“I—You know, she—”

“She was fucking drugged, and we haven’t even fuckin’ talked to her for a month, because we are supposed to be playing it cool. You know this shit came up in the trial, right? You _want_ us disbanded?” Victoria seethes, stepping into Courtney’s personal space and jabbing the pen in her face.

“I mean, yeah, I know, they took the video off of my phone,” Courtney says, standing her ground for once. “But she’s still a holier-than-thou little slut, and it’s not like drugs instantly turn you into a whore. They just got rid of her inhibitions.”

“We’ve done enough of this petty shit.” Victoria turns and scrubs out the message. “She’s not fucking threatening us. She didn’t do anything to us. You’re just being an asshole.”

“What the hell happened to you, Victoria?” Courtney asks, putting her hands on her hips. “You sound like fucking Max.”

“Oh, I don’t know, my best friend killed two people and I stopped a suicide attempt, maybe?” Victoria jabs the pen into Courtney’s chest. “You keep this shit up—”

“And you’ll what? Aren’t you too high-and-mighty for Blackwell politics now?” Courtney challenges.

“Not against people who deserve it,” Victoria warns. “You really wanna do this with me? You think I can’t snap my fucking fingers and get you kicked out of the Club? What friends do you have except for me and Taylor, exactly? Who’s gonna give a shit about you once I make it clear that you’re not welcome around me anymore?”

Courtney’s face twists, but she doesn’t say anything.

“That’s what I thought. Stay in your goddamn lane. Don’t let me catch you doing this kind of shit again. We play it cool. We leave people the hell alone.” As Victoria finishes her sentence, she notices Kate coming down the hall. Courtney follows her eyes and quickly breaks away from Victoria, nearly jogging back to her room as Victoria makes sure that Kate’s door isn’t marked with anything else.

“Victoria?” Kate asks as Victoria wipes a letter she missed off of the slate. “Something going on?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Victoria answers.

Kate gives her a confused look, and then something dawns on her face. “Oh,” she says quietly. “Uh, thanks.”

“Literally do not mention it.”

 

* * *

 

After almost a full week of dealing with class, attempted interviews from Juliet, and a succession of hospital selfies of Chloe flipping off a variety of medical equipment and personnel, Victoria finally gets the text she’s been waiting for.

_on my way to steal my shit back_

Naturally, she’s in class when she gets it, but that doesn’t stop her. She simply stands up and walks right out through the back door of Grant’s classroom, whispering, “Chloe,” to Taylor on the way. Taylor gives her a worried look, like she’s not sure if that’s good or bad, so Victoria gives her a smile. Grant barely pays Victoria any mind. If Victoria wants to go somewhere, she goes.

She spots Chloe’s bandages and scraps of blue almost as soon as she leaves the building. She looks so animated, so alive, gesturing wildly at Joyce as they make their way towards the dorms. Victoria keeps herself cool. Mostly. She only increases her pace a little bit.

Joyce spots her first. “Oh, Victoria!” she calls, and Chloe’s head swivels instantly. She looks kind of shocked as Victoria catches up to them, heading under the arch towards the dormitory courtyard.

“I thought you were in class,” Chloe says.

“I was, and I walked out,” Victoria replies.

“Wh—Shit, Vic, go back to class, get your education or whatever, we’ll set up that dinner—”

“My door’s locked,” Victoria informs her.

“This morning, I told you to—”

“I know. I wasn’t gonna let you come by and not see me.”

“She’s got your number, Chloe,” Joyce says with a laugh.

“I guess I didn’t think you wanted to see me that bad,” Chloe mumbles. “I mean, I’ve been sending you stupid selfies all week, and, like, at the moment I kinda look like a circus freak—”

“Stop saying that shit, right now,” Victoria orders. “Of course I wanted to see you.”

“She’s got a mouth to match yours, huh?” Joyce comments.

Chloe takes a longer look at Victoria as they enter the dorms. “Yeah, I guess so,” she says, a strange tone in her voice.

“Come on, I’ve got all your stuff in my room. Including your keys. I locked the truck for you once the police cleared out,” Victoria explains as she takes the lead.

“Seriously, Vic, you don’t need to—”

“Hush,” Joyce tells her. “I don’t think she wants to hear it.”

Victoria tosses a glance over her shoulder and spots Chloe rubbing the back of her neck, a faint smile on her face. Victoria really likes that smile.

She opens the door and presents Chloe’s clothes and keys to her, washed, dried, and folded up neatly on Victoria’s bed. Chloe immediately grabs her jacket and wraps it around herself, sighing happily. “I’ll just drive myself home,” Chloe tells Joyce. “You don’t need to like, sit around and fuss over me.”

“I get it, you don’t want the old lady hanging around with you and your girlfriend,” Joyce says with a smile.

“She’s not—”

“I bought that lie once, Chloe. When you were sixteen.” Joyce looks to Victoria and gives her a wink. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Chloe just kind of throws her hands into the air and looks sheepishly at Victoria until the door closes. “Um—” she begins.

“What, I’m not your girlfriend?” Victoria huffs, putting her hands on her hips.

“I mean—like, we hate-fucked once and then we had a single half-decent conversation and then we sad-fucked and then I tried to kill myself. That’s not quite enough to call yourself my girlfriend,” Chloe says, raising her shoulders and looking just the littlest bit defensive. “You gotta work harder than that.”

“Well, good thing I’m an overachiever, then. So, are we going now?”

“Huh?”

“You said Two Whales, ‘soon as I get out of this shithole,’ right? Well, you’re out of that shithole,” Victoria points out, stepping closer to Chloe.

“You’re gonna skip—”

“Chloe, Jesus, I can skip one day of class, it’s not even midterms yet,” Victoria says, rolling her eyes. “I want to make sure you’re doing all right, and I get what I want, remember?”

“You’re kinda scary when you’re not fucked-up,” Chloe says, raising an eyebrow. “All right, clingy, if we’re going, let’s go. You want a ride?”

“Not until you clean that truck out. There’s still blood in it,” Victoria says as Chloe gathers up the rest of her stuff.

“It gives it character and history, thank you.” Chloe opens the door, then stops dead in her tracks, her eyes wavering on that photo of Max across the hall. Victoria doesn’t like the way her breath catches in her throat, the waver in her muscles.

Chloe swallows. “Um, you really sure you wanna do it today?” she asks, looking at the floor. “I mean, we could—”

“Yes,” Victoria says, snatching at Chloe’s hand and leading her out the door. “No more arguing.”

“My mom would die of laughter if she heard you say that,” Chloe says, stepping back into her tone a little bit as they head out towards the parking lot. Her hand is warm in Victoria’s, rough and callused and nice.

“So, are you all right?” Victoria asks.

“I mean, I’m okay. Just, uh, just being able to talk to my mom, and, um, you, it makes me feel better,” Chloe admits. “That hospital really fucking sucked though. Super boring. And bad for sleep, and stuff.”

Victoria smiles at the thought of their dopey, contentless text chat helping Chloe through her time of greatest boredom. “But, like...” Chloe begins as they start crossing the main campus, “Can we not talk about all that shit, for a while? Honestly, I’m sick of talking to people about depression and pills and suicide and blah blah blah, it just keeps all that crap in the front of my head, you know? I wanna have a normal goddamned conversation with someone, which it turns out is kind of hard when all anyone’s thinking about is how you tried to kill yourself. Mom cries too goddamn much.”

“All right. When we get there, you get to be in charge.”

“Those are dangerous words to say to Chloe Price, Chase.”

“I dare you to make good on your vague little threats someday, Chloe.”

“You just wait.”

Victoria reluctantly lets go of Chloe to get into her car. The sight of Chloe in that truck is still a little unnerving. But they have a date. And Chloe had better not miss it.

 

* * *

 

Victoria’s a little surprised to see that Joyce is at the diner (and offering free food), but after a brief adjustment period, a seat at a booth, and a slightly scornful look over the grease-stained menu, she and Chloe manage to order. As Joyce takes the menus away, Chloe leans forward on the table on her elbows and puts on a cocky smirk.

“Okay. My turn,” she begins. “So what are you into? And before you say some shit like photography or fashion or whatever, I mean what are you _into_. What’s the Queen of Blackwell got a huge, stupid nerdy obsession with that is super embarrassing and only her friends know about it?”

Victoria knows the answer to this one almost immediately. And she can be honest with Chloe. “Easy. Anime.”

Chloe’s eyes widen. “Wow, no deflection, all right. But that’s a broad subject, Chase. So what is it, like, trashy harem shit, ninja stuff, sci-fi? Max was all about Final Fantasy back in the day.”

Victoria waits for the mention of Max to hit Chloe, but her expression’s still firmly in its place. Okay. Let Chloe direct this one for a while. “Biggest recent thing was Attack on Titan, over the summer, when I had time to actually watch things,” Victoria says.

“Details, Chase, details.”

Chloe just sits there and lets Victoria nerd out, which is something that even Taylor was never able to stomach; Victoria knows she’s getting a little too into the intricate details of the plot and how the animation is _so cool_ and she’s so ready for the next season and we should totally watch it sometime, but Chloe just watches her with an amused expression on her face and the occasional question poking fun at the mechanics of the world Victoria is trying to describe to her. When Victoria’s out of things to say that aren’t spoilers, she decides to ask Chloe what kind of things she likes, and gets quite the earful on science fiction and robots and Blade Runner and a list of punk bands that goes by so fast that Victoria doesn’t catch a single name. They commiserate over Neon Genesis Evangelion, sharing gripes about the ending or lack thereof, and Chloe tells stories about skateboarding adventures (with non-Rachel people), and Victoria tells tales of Vortex Club parties that nearly ended in disaster, and it’s...easy. It’s easy to talk to Chloe about this stuff. It’s so easy, this shallow little conversation peppered with petty complaints and bad jokes, that Victoria hardly notices how long they’ve been sitting in this diner and picking at empty plates until Joyce rolls up and asks if they need coffee or “Anything to justify the two of you holding down that booth.”

“Shit, dude, it is like five o’clock,” Chloe remarks, pulling her phone out. “This lunch date turned into dinner. Hey mom, do we get more free food now?”

Victoria’s stomach almost instantly rebels at the thought of more grease, but thankfully Joyce says, “Go on, you two, get.” And then Chloe’s smirk gets slightly smugger as they get out of the booth.

“Hey, Vic. You know, I’ve been hearing about this new show. Think you might dig it. Wanna head back to my place, check it out?”

“I am immediately suspicious,” Victoria replies.

“What, too chicken? Or do you suddenly care about your education and need to do some homework or some other lame-ass shit?” Chloe taunts.

“You’re on, Price.”

 

* * *

 

Victoria can’t stay silent any longer. She’d almost been willing to let the terrible quality of this... _thing_ they’re watching slide for the sake of Chloe allowing her to cuddle up against her on this ratty couch, their takeout Chinese on the coffee table before them. But, Jesus.

“This is _garbage._ ”

“This is _awesome_ ,” Chloe replies, grinning.

“She has suspenders over her boobs!”

“I know!”

“This is the trashiest fucking anime I’ve seen in my whole fucking life.”

“It’s _the best_.”

“You did this to fuck with me.”

“I really super did.” Chloe looks down at Victoria. “This enough to convince you I’m gonna be the literal worst girlfriend? You can back out now. No pressure.” Victoria’s starting to recognize that look in her eye. The joking-but-not-really-joking look.

“You are gonna have to try so much harder than this,” Victoria replies. “You think you can scare me off with this after the last couple of weeks? Chloe, _honey_ , give me some fucking credit.”

“You’ll crack. One day.” But Chloe wraps an arm around Victoria’s shoulders, trembling a little bit as Victoria leans into her and takes a whiff of that punk-rat smell. Axe, sweat, chemicals, a hint of blood from the bandages. Chloe. _Hers._

 

* * *

 

They do end up watching a lot of stuff together, mostly at Victoria’s insistence. They stay away from her room, though. Victoria doesn’t want Chloe to have to be anywhere near 219. Sometimes it’s Chloe movies and sometimes it’s Victoria shows, but in either case it quickly becomes a challenge to see who can rag on it the hardest and then profess their love for it at the end. It’s strange, how casual it all is, after all of that. But, Victoria supposes, life can’t all be big dramatic painful moments, and she’s had enough of those for a lifetime. Chloe’s always willing to accept an invitation (“I’m unemployed and bored as fuck,” she admits after Victoria questions this) and Victoria finds that, after any given day of managing her life, sitting down in front of a screen and cuddling up to Chloe is better at helping her relax than any other drug she’s tried.

Sometimes, Chloe loses a step. She gets quiet and withdrawn, starts needling at Victoria with little comments about her wealth, her fashion, how they don’t belong together at all. Victoria takes it in stride. She doesn’t fire back, she just affirms what she’s said before: “You’ll have to try harder than that.” If Chloe can’t be certain, Victoria will be.

People talk, of course. Word gets around. But somehow, it doesn’t really touch Victoria’s reputation. If anything, less people are giving her the stink-eye when they think she’s not looking than before. Kate spreading the idea that Victoria’s defending her now probably helped with that. Courtney’s still stewing, of course, but they keep their little tiff under the surface so as not to upset the already-fucked social order. Taylor, on the other hand, has gotten to be more and more of a real friend, hanging out with Victoria in her room and studying and just talking about the life they’re living.  Victoria feels a little bit like Rachel Amber, now. She feels invincible. She got a girlfriend, a really fucking weird one, and nothing terrible happened to her. People haven’t said shit. She’s really on top.

Sometimes, Chloe decides it’s time to take her out on what she calls ‘adventures’. This generally means showing off skateboard tricks that she hasn’t done since Rachel died, which does her already-scarred-up head no favors. It can also mean going up to the lighthouse, sharing a bowl, and talking about a childhood beside a budding photographer.

Chloe’s been quiet for a little while, as the sun goes down over the Bay. She’s run out of things to talk about. Victoria knows that tone in her voice, the way she talks about her dad dying just before Max left.

They sit around the embers of the fire they lit almost an hour ago, sidled up next to each other. Victoria hasn’t been pushing. This is as far as they’ve gone since they became ‘official’. She’s been waiting for Chloe to make the first move, despite how goddamn much she wants to just dominate her mouth sometimes. Since their emotional highs ended, since this cooldown period started after the hospital, the attraction has slowed to a dull roar in Victoria as opposed to screaming in her skull. Besides, this is the one area of her life where she needs to show some fucking restraint. The last thing they need is a repeat of the junkyard, or the storm.

Chloe takes in a long breath. “Y’know, the other thing about Max, was...”

Victoria braces herself.

“She was the first girl I ever really... _liked_ , you know? And then she just runs off, and, like, abandons me for years.” Chloe’s got water in her voice. “Sometimes, I think, like, did it show? I never told her, but, did she know? Is that why?”

Uh, shit. It’s been a while since a conversation went like this, and Victoria was never good at it in the first place, and she’s rusty now. She needs to think, but Chloe’s starting to shake.

“I—I don’ t think so,” Victoria says, trying to keep that confidence in her voice. “Everyone knew Max was kind of a super shy, introverted geek. I made fun of her for it, and stuff. I think—like, maybe she just didn’t know what to say, at first, and then, like, it took longer and longer for her to figure it out, and then it’d been _too_ long, y’know? I can’t imagine she’d — also, she seemed, like, kinda gay.”

Chloe lets out a wet laugh. “Wait, really?”

“I mean, kinda. Like she could go either way, and it wouldn’t be surprising.” Victoria shrugs. “Maybe she liked you too. I would’ve. Maybe that’s what made her so awkward about coming back and talking to you. And...she did run in front of a gun for you. That’s like, the opposite of abandonment.”

“She shouldn’t have fucking done that,” Chloe murmurs. “God.”

Shit. Wrong thing to say. Chloe’s gonna cry and it’s gonna be Victoria’s fault. Stupid. Why would you ever think you can solve this, why would you think you could help—

And she’s crying now, trying to keep it quiet. Victoria freezes against her, anxiety flaring up in her stomach. She shifts over, wanting to just take Chloe in her arms and make her be okay, like she said she could, like she was so sure she could. “Hey,” she says quietly, under her breath. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” as she embraces Chloe and holds tight.

Chloe’s breathing manages to come back to regularity after a while, and she pulls away, and then Victoria just does it. It feels good to kiss her. Maybe it’s not the right time, but what _is_ the right time? The two of them are never going to do this totally smoothly. Chloe’s slightly shocked, at first, but she seems grateful, relaxing under Victoria.

“I’m glad she saved you,” she says, a lump in her throat. “I’m glad you’re still alive. I wouldn’t have met you if Nathan—if he killed you in there, instead...”

“So, what, you’re glad she’s dead?” Chloe spits, twisting her head away from Victoria.

 _Fuck._ “No, no, that’s not what I—”

Chloe cuts her off with a sigh. “I know. I know. God, that was a shitty thing to say, I’m sorry. It’s just—you know my fucking brain.” She falls back into the dirt, running a hand along the shaved side of her head, over the torn-up ear. “Better than anyone.”

“And I’m still here, right?” Victoria says, leaning over her. “I’m staying with you.”

“For some fucking reason.”

“Because I think I love you.”

Chloe looks into her eyes, shocked. “D-damn, Chase, real committed there,” she says, trying to force a smirk onto her face. “You _think_ , huh?”

Okay. Seal the deal, Victoria.

She leans down and kisses Chloe again. “I do love you,” she affirms.

Chloe wraps her arms around Victoria, leaving them prone on the dirt, their lips and tongues meeting with an intensity Victoria’s never quite felt. Not this way. Not without guilt and pain and self-hatred coloring her system. By the time they break apart, she’s panting, imagining Chloe’s teeth on her neck and her nails on her back, but Chloe’s looking more content than crazed.

Chloe runs a hand through Victoria’s hair as she lifts herself above Chloe’s chest. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

“Pots and kettles?”

“I hate your ass.” But from Chloe, in that warm voice, that doesn’t mean what it’s supposed to mean. It might not be “I love you too,” but Victoria will take it.

Chloe leads her back down to the trailhead, and Victoria really doesn’t want to let her go back home by herself. But Chloe looks exhausted. Victoria can’t push. Not now.

But she has an idea for an adventure of her own.


	9. More Than Some Dalliance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may find yourself questioning the premise of this chapter. I feel the need to inform my audience:
> 
> 1\. This actually happened  
> 2\. I am basing this chapter on my own life  
> 3\. Making friends with rich gay people in a pot-friendly state will result in interesting life experiences

Chloe’s been waiting.

Waiting for Victoria to come to her senses. Waiting for her to slowly stop inviting herself into Chloe’s home, waiting for a rejection, waiting for this _thing_ they have to turn sour. Prepared at every moment for the inevitable, for when Victoria realizes that there’s no future in being with Chloe Price.

Yet she said, “I love you.” And yet, she’s still here, lying against Chloe, sometime around midnight, the TV blank because they’ve run out of movie, sighing into her shoulder. And now she’s saying something crazy.

“You’re serious,” Chloe says.

“I’m always serious.”

“You want to take me out in public?”

“It’s not like you’re a secret, Chloe. Everybody knows. Hasn’t stopped me from ruling that shitty school.”

“But, like...” Chloe flexes her fingers on Victoria’s shoulder. “You want me to...go to one of your fancy rich-kid club parties? You really think that’s a good idea?”

“Not just a party. This is gonna be _the_ party.”

“But, for real, Vic. Me. Meeting all your friends. That’s not...” Chloe runs a hand over her scar. “I don’t belong there.”

“Yes, you do, because you’re _my_ girlfriend and it’s _my_ club. Besides.” Victoria shifts against her. “It’s not like it’s that different from stuff you’ve done. We’re not gonna be going to Vegas or some shit, you don’t need to be loaded. We’re just doing a shitload of drugs in a cabin in the woods. Danksgiving.”

Chloe snorts. “That’s seriously the name you’re using.”

“Well, not in public. But it’s not like anyone’s gonna stop us, Hayden’s parents own the place. We’ve been running shit up there from dispensaries for like two weeks, making sure we’ve got enough. We’re making cookies, brownies, butter, all kinds of shit.” Victoria leans up and runs a hand along Chloe’s chin, and she shivers because Victoria’s hand is so, so soft. She must use a metric ton of moisturizer. “I really, really want you to be there.”

Chloe wants to think through this logically, but now Victoria is tugging at her shoulder and now Chloe’s shifting onto her back and now Victoria’s on top of her and looking into those brown eyes makes it impossible to think, logically or otherwise.

“Please say you’ll come,” Victoria breathes.

“Okay,” Chloe says, defeated. “But, like, if I wanna bail—”

“I’ll drive you home myself.” Victoria grins. “I love you.”

As their lips meet, Chloe feels a stab of guilt, because she never says it back. But if she does, it’ll make this real. This whole thing. And when it inevitably ends, she has to be able to believe that it was always supposed to stop at some point, that it was always fake. But Victoria doesn’t seem to mind, if the way her teeth scrape against Chloe’s lower lip is any indication.

She’s got to stop being crazy sooner or later.

 

* * *

 

So, this is where she is. Sitting in Victoria’s car in front of a two-story, tiny little cabin with a lake behind it, Victoria’s hand on her thigh. It’s surprisingly quiet, even though judging by the parking situation around here they are definitely not the first to arrive. The light from the cabin windows is bright white fluorescent, washing in through Victoria’s windshield and giving her face a static glow.

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine,” Victoria says, smoothing her fingers over Chloe’s leg. “Look. I love you. So will they. And if they don’t, I’ll cut them.”

Chloe laughs at the fierceness in Victoria’s voice. “At least I’ll be high.”

“You’ll be high as _fuck_ ,” Victoria confirms, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. “It’s the great equalizer.”

“All right. Let’s do this,” Chloe says, opening her door. “You’re still making bad life choices, Chase.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Victoria holds her hand as they head up to the front door. She barges right through, apparently anticipating the response she gets, which is that everyone in the room turns towards them and either shouts out Victoria’s name or gets back to work. The people in the kitchen, at the front, look very serious about what they’re doing — Trevor and Justin in particular seem to be anxiously pacing back and forth in front of the oven, checking the phones every few steps to stare at the stopwatches they’d set. Past the counter, there’s a few people smoking as they lay around a couch with a TV set on the wall, and over to the left, there’s a long dining table where someone’s already laid out place settings.

“This is my girlfriend, Chloe,” Victoria keeps repeating as she wanders the room, leading Chloe by the hand, and Chloe has to nod and try to remember the flood of names — a lot of them she knows already, but there’s some strangers here, and Victoria apparently wants every single person to see her fucked-up, scarred, blue-haired girlfriend. She notices that Victoria stares pretty intensely at everyone once she says the word ‘girlfriend’, her face only relaxing after each person seems to show no negative reaction, or swallows it, whichever. Then, with a look from Victoria, two people vacate their spots on the couch, and Chloe finds a pipe in her hand, which makes things easier. She doesn’t know how to socialize with these people, but she can definitely smoke.

After a few hits, she’s able to simply relax into the couch and listen to the conversation around her, letting Victoria’s arm around her shoulder be her anchor. There are a _lot_ of people here, and they all seem to want to talk, talk, talk, but some of the shit they say is funny, and Chloe’s at least able to laugh along with them and occasionally throw in a clarifying question or a quick pun. And nobody’s going after her, nobody’s even asked Victoria or her anything about why they’re together, why Chloe’s here. They’re just going with it. That’s...it’s unnerving. Chloe feels like she’s waiting to spring up her defenses, to chew someone out (or let Vic do it) and yet nobody’s jabbing. Even Courtney, sitting at the other end of the couch and looking kind of icily at them, averts her eyes when Chloe makes contact. It’s almost like when Rachel would bring her along to a beach party. She’s shielded by Victoria’s aura.

Once Trevor announces that dinner is served, and Chloe’s already kind of deep in the haze (and so’s the whole cabin, for that matter; Chloe wonders how much smoke is hanging in the air in terms of parts per billion for a moment), things get a little easier. Victoria gets head of the table, naturally, and Chloe sits right by her side, and Trevor and Justin sit across from her, and she knows these guys. And, like, holy shit. There’s a real turkey and mashed potatoes and everything, and cookies and brownies, and everything looks really fucking good but Chloe also has to wonder how much THC is baked into each thing. This is crazy. And kind of awesome. Amazing what money can do sometimes.

“Chloe, it’s been for-fucking-ever!” Justin says, reaching his hand up for a high-five. “What the fuck! When did this happen?” he adds after Chloe obliges him, pointing between Chloe and Victoria.

“Same time this did,” Chloe says before Victoria can answer, sweeping her hand over the right side of her head.

“Oof, gnarly,” Justin replies with a wince. “What happened there, like, you just eat shit super hard, or—”

“Tried to shoot myself. Turns out my aim sucks when Victoria’s being a fucking hero,” Chloe interrupts. Victoria pales, and so do both Justin and Trevor, so maybe it’s wrong to be this chill about it right now, but she’s high and she can’t help it. Plus, it’s normal to her now, might as well be out there.

“Damn,” Trevor says after a second. “Me and Dana just like making out.”

And with that, the moment’s broken, and Victoria leans over and kisses Chloe while she lets out a snorting laugh.

“So, what’s everyone dankful for?” Victoria asks. “I’ll start.”

“We know the answer, V!” someone calls from the other end of the table.

“Fuck you, I’m saying it anyway: My kickass girlfriend.” And Chloe gets another kiss. “Now you,” Victoria says, poking Chloe in the shoulder.

Chloe realizes she’s grinning like an idiot, and brushes her hand over her torn ear again. “Same,” she says simply. And the evening gets on.

Chloe eats a _lot_. Like, probably too much. But it’s all really damn good (she finds herself calling Trevor and Justin the ‘goddamn Iron Chefs of pot cookies,’ repeatedly,) and everyone just gets funnier and funnier, and most of the time at the table is spent trying to avoid spewing crumbs across it while damn near everyone is unable to fucking breathe, especially after Hayden tells some story about football practice that Chloe doesn’t really get but the way he’s unable to stop laughing is more hilarious than the story could ever be.

Victoria ends up on Chloe’s lap as people clear away the table. Chloe giggles as Victoria sucks on her neck and runs her hands up and down her back. Everything is really blurry, but every little Victoria touch tingles on her skin and makes her want to just go upstairs right now and find a bedroom and lock the door and get out of this party and just be with Victoria, forever, or as long it lasts.

But then people are moving furniture out of the living room and they have to get up so that a dance floor can be cleared, so they shift to just sort of leaning on each other against the kitchen counter instead while conversations flow around Chloe and Victoria flows with them. Chloe’s head is filled with thoughts of Victoria, and only her, and it’s getting hard to keep up with the people around her as they prepare playlists and choose DJs and set up the stereo system and talk about things that are too hard to understand or comment on right now while Chloe’s eyes are burning and this room is too hot because there’s too many people in it.

Once the music starts up, Chloe knows that she has to get out of here. Victoria’s tugging her towards the dance floor, but Chloe’s tugging back, trying to shout over the music.

“Do you wanna go?” Victoria asks, getting very close very quickly and whispering in her ear. “Like, home?”

No, she can’t take Victoria away from this — besides, driving sounds really fucking dangerous right now. “I just need a cigarette,” Chloe says. “Outside. I’ll come back in later, kay?”

Victoria frowns, but she nods. As Chloe lets go of her hand and starts heading for the back porch, she suddenly finds herself grabbed by the shoulders and turned around and captured in a long, tongue-heavy, hot kiss. She can hear the people whooping and cheering around her as they separate, Chloe’s heart beating a staccato rhythm.

“Come back soon,” Victoria mouths with a wink.

Chloe nods dumbly, but then the heat of the room is too much and the music’s too loud and everything’s just happening a lot, so she quickly weaves through the dancers, slides the back door open, and gasps once the cold air hits her skin. She shakes as she closes the door behind her, muffling the music to a degree that she didn’t think was quite possible but she is _very_ grateful that it is.

She walks to the railing at the end of the porch and leans over it, staring into the surface of the lake beyond. She breathes out, watching the fog spray out like smoke.

Smoke. Right. That’s something to do with her hands.

She reaches into her jacket and pulls out her pack, takes a cigarette, and sticks it between her teeth. She lights it, sucks in, and thinks of drowning. Walking into that lake and forgetting everything. Letting it all end here. She thinks of vermin fucking in a junkyard. Thinks of snakes hibernating together for warmth. Thinks of a girl holding a hissing cockroach for show-and-tell, and everyone telling her it’s beautiful and unique while swallowing the vomit in their mouths.

She feels the high descend as she finishes off her cigarette and lights another. Her head’s the slightest bit clearer now. Her eyes don’t sting. But her stomach’s resting comfortably in her hips. If this doesn’t prove to Victoria that they can’t ever belong together, nothing will. Chloe’s not as tough as she is. Can’t even handle her parties. How can she be expected to handle the rest of Victoria’s life?

The bass suddenly pounds into her ear for a couple of beats as the door slides open behind her. Chloe takes a quick glance behind her. Blonde girl. Long hair. Dark clothes. Kind of shrinking into herself as she closes the door.

“It’s a little intense in there, huh?” she asks as she steps up beside Chloe like they know each other.

“Yeah.” Chloe takes another drag. “You’re Taylor, right?”

“Mhmm.”

“You’re the one Vic actually likes,” Chloe says as the gears in her head turn. “She’s talked about you once in a while.”

“Oh! Really?” Taylor asks, and Chloe has to take a closer look at her. Her sleeve falls back from her wrist as she puts her elbows on the railing. Scab right in the middle, under her palm. Familiar.

“You’re the only one she doesn’t at least occasionally bitch about.” Chloe watches for her reaction.

“Well, uh, that’s, that’s good,” Taylor says, rubbing the scab on her wrist. “She talks about you a lot, too.”

“All bad things, I’m sure.”

“No! She really, really likes you. Like, I’ve never seen her get so invested in a person before. It’s kind of sweet,” Taylor admits.

“Huh.” Chloe doesn’t know what else to say. She can’t say, _Well, she’s really fucking nuts, then_ , which is what she’s thinking, but she’s made a bad enough impression on Victoria’s friends tonight.

“You know...” Taylor sighs, and seizes up a little bit. Chloe knows that motion, too. She braces herself, because this is what it looks like when someone who’s obviously got anxiety problems is about to unload on you. “I always thought that if she was gay, she’d, um...she’d choose me. Or, I guess, I just kind of...hoped.”

“Damn, just laying it all on me, huh?” Chloe says, cocking an eyebrow.

“Well, I don’t know, you were open about stuff back there, and...and I’ve wanted to tell someone that for like fucking forever. And, you know. Kinda high.”

“And you choose _me?_ ”

“I get why she likes you.”

Chloe doesn’t get this. This thing Taylor’s doing. But she’s still talking.

“It’s like—you’re really, brutally fucking honest. About everything. Everyone noticed, in there, people were talking about it,” Taylor babbles. “And, like, that’s really refreshing, almost? You don’t hold back, you don’t hide. Even the scary stuff. I think Victoria really needed that. She’s gotten a little more open with me lately, but I know there’s some stuff she can only talk to you about.”

“Why are you talking like this?” Chloe asks. “Did she put you up to it?”

“No! I just—you looked pretty lonely out here, and I wanted to say this stuff because I know—she’s told me about you, everything that you were involved with, and all that shit just sounds awful. And I mean, look at her.” Taylor points through the glass doors, at Victoria and Courtney getting _down_ in the center of the dance floor, almost liked they choreographed it. “She and Courtney pretty much fucking hate each other these days, but she’s still gotta act like they’re cool. She doesn’t have to do that with you. You’re loud and you’re brash and you’re funny and you’re _real_.”

It feels a little easier to breathe as Chloe looks at Taylor.

“I guess I just wanted to let you know that I’m kind of rooting for you guys. I can’t imagine what it’d do to Tori if you two broke up. So treat her right,” Taylor says, a waver in her voice despite the finality she’s trying to impart.

Chloe takes a long drag off of her cigarette and turns back to the water, because her eyes are stinging again, for a different reason. A doe steps into the moonlight, sipping at the edge of the lake. Chloe stares, waiting for a hint of blue.

"You okay, Chloe?" Taylor asks.

Chloe shakes her head, and the doe's gone. Snap out of it. Say something. “Thanks, Taylor." She should say something else. She thinks back to that scab on Taylor’s wrist. “You know, a long time ago, I liked a girl like you. Nervous and anxious all the time, a little scatterbrained. But when she had to tell you something, she’d always work up the nerve.”

Taylor swallows. “Uh.”

“What I’m trying to say is that you’ll find a nice girl, too. Or guy, I don’t know if you’re gay for girls in general or just Vic,” Chloe says, shrugging. “And, you know. If you want, I can ask Vic about a threesome sometime.”

Taylor breaks into nervous giggles. “Oh my God, don’t.”

“I’m serious, I bet I could make her go for it,” Chloe continues, a smile growing on her lips. “Get a little booze, a little smooth jazz—”

“Stop—”

“Tell Vic it’s all about giving her a little worship, she likes that—”

“You’re definitely high—”

“Offer’s open, just saying,” Chloe says, laughing at the dark flush on Taylor’s cheeks. And she’s sick of standing up and staring out at that dark lake, so she moves over to the table on the other side of the porch and stretches herself across two chairs, Taylor taking one across from her.

“You’re staying out here?” Chloe asks. “Thought your speech was done.”

“I mean, I also came out here because _Jesus_ it is loud in there right now. And hot,” Taylor replies. “Mind if I bum a cigarette?”

And Chloe starts to get why Victoria likes Taylor, too. It’s easy to just sit out here and enjoy the night, and a little tobacco, with her. Their conversation has its pauses, but it tells Chloe about times before Nathan that Victoria could be kind, even if she wasn’t good at it, and Chloe can talk about Max a little bit too, because it turns out that everyone sort of liked her and the guilt that ate at Victoria eats at Taylor, too. Chloe repeats what’s almost become a mantra in the weeks after the storm: “It’s not your fault.”

Eventually, Taylor complains that it’s freezing out here, but Chloe still doesn’t really want to re-enter that scene. She feels calm out here, at peace, almost, and she’s willing to wait until the music drops down to rejoin Victoria. And she can still watch from out here, even as Taylor heads back inside. Victoria lights up that dance floor, and the two of them meet eyes occasionally, and that lets Chloe know that for some reason, Victoria’s still thinking of her.

She also gets to watch people slowly drop off, migrating to where the couch was moved and slumping down on it, or heading upstairs and never coming back down. Someone shuts off the music, and then the lights, and now the door’s opening as the TV starts playing some weird cartoon for the last few remaining souls.

Victoria crosses the porch and lifts Chloe out of her chair without a word, clinging tight to her and kissing the absolute _shit_ out of her in the darkness. Chloe’s heart pounds as she puts a hand on the back of Victoria’s neck and digs her nails in, Victoria’s low moan reverberating in her mouth.

As they break apart, panting, Victoria whispers, “You were supposed to come back.”

“I was gonna,” Chloe lies. “But I liked it out here better.”

“Mm.” Victoria pulls her into a tight embrace. “Sorry for dragging you to this thing. I just wanted everyone to see you.”

“I’m glad I came.” Chloe’s not lying about that. Not entirely. “Besides, Taylor came out for a while and kept me company.”

“I saw. She’s usually alone when she heads out like that. Good talk?”

Chloe nods into Victoria’s shoulder.

“Good. Now we get one of the actual beds. Special privilege. Come on.”

Chloe follows Victoria back inside, catching only a glimpse of a stretching yellow dog on the TV screen that Justin, Trevor and Dana are giggling at before heading upstairs. Victoria leads her to a kid’s bedroom where people have already nested on the floor, cuddling together with blankets and pillows raided from the closet. They take their shoes and jackets off quietly, leaving them just outside the door. So they only get a twin bed, but somehow, that’s better, because the small size means that Victoria’s right up against Chloe’s back as they curl up together.

Victoria wraps her arms around Chloe and slides her hands under Chloe’s shirt, lingering there as she sloppily sucks on Chloe’s neck again. Chloe tries to keep herself quiet because _holy shit_ Victoria is just kind of digging into her, rocking against her back, and it makes Chloe want to groan so badly but that would be incredibly fucking rude. Victoria's being pretty rude to these sleeping people right now, but Chloe kind of likes that. It means Victoria really, really wants her, and that's an invigorating thought.

Victoria eventually ends her assault, but she whispers wetly in Chloe’s ear, barely audible, “I wanna fuck you so bad right now.”

Chloe laughs quietly, feeling her nerves cool down as they settle into each other. They still haven't gone that far again, because every time they start making out too heavily Chloe freezes, remembering worse times. But it doesn't sound so bad, now. Eventually, she thinks, she'll be comfortable enough.

Chloe still doesn’t get it. Not really. But Victoria’s warm and beautiful and into Chloe, for some goddamn reason, no matter what she does. She’ll take it, no matter if there’s a future in it or not, because right now, in this bed, with this crazy, horny rich chick wrapped around her, Chloe really feels alive.


	10. The Scars That Dress My Skin

This has to be the end.

Victoria’s going back home for Christmas. This fling is over. No more quiet nights cuddled on the couch, no more crazed, lust-addled kisses, no more long talks about being fucked-up. By the time she comes back, she’ll remember that she doesn’t need Chloe. That she never needed Chloe.

Still, Chloe can’t help it. She’s addicted. They said goodbye two hours ago, hugging in Chloe’s living room. Victoria’s mascara bled. Wasted tears. Chloe took her to the bathroom and helped her fix it. Promised that she’d be fine. They’d text, she’d said, they’d keep in contact, they’d be fine. Victoria could count on her until she didn’t need her anymore.

But when Chloe tried to go to sleep after that, she just thought of blue-eyed does and storms and sitting on train tracks with fancy cigarettes in her mouth. She thought of fierce declarations of love and clinging to a friend in the dark. She thought of the dead, as she often does.

She hasn’t been back to Victoria’s room in a long time. 219 is hard to confront. But that’s where she’s heading now. She keeps her eyes on the left side of the hallway, or tries to, but she can’t help this, either. She still turns, just before knocking, just to see what Max looked like, all grown up. Or as grown up as she’ll ever get.

It still hurts like a bitch. But Chloe doesn’t want to just break down this time. She crouches down before the memorial and traces the hardened wax beneath the candles. She should leave something here. She did love this girl. Max did save her life. Chloe owes her a debt that’s impossible to repay. Time. Time Chloe’s wasted falling for someone she’ll never belong with. Time Chloe’s going to cut short, one day. After Victoria leaves, how long will it take for Chloe to succumb? How long can she withstand her own thoughts, really? How many times can someone save her before the world collectively realizes that Chloe’s supposed to be dead?

She wipes her eyes. No. She can’t do this again, it can’t go like the last time she came to the dorms at night. Victoria doesn’t deserve to see that. She’s risked so much for Chloe. Chloe didn’t deserve all the effort, and yet she still needs the love it brought, it itches in her lungs.

She stands up and lightly knocks on Victoria’s door. Hopefully she’s asleep. That would mean Chloe could leave and forget this. That she won’t feed her addiction.

But the door opens, and Vic’s mascara is fucked again. Chloe tries to say something, but Victoria just throws her arms around her.

“Are you really here?” she asks, her body burning against Chloe.

“Uh, yeah,” Chloe says, pulling back for a second. “I wanted—”

Victoria cuts her off with a kiss. Chloe can taste the salt of her sweat. The vibration in her lips. Something’s wrong. Her hair clings to her forehead. Chloe’s connecting the dots as Victoria pulls her into her room, her palms slick.

“I—I know it doesn’t really work like that, but I wanted to make sure,” Victoria babbles, sinking into her couch.

“What doesn’t?”

“I’m, uh.” Victoria stares at Chloe’s rainbow-printed shirt for a second, entranced by something, and Chloe suddenly knows exactly what’s going on.

“Jesus Christ, you’re tripping.”

Victoria nods.

“God, Vic, I thought you were smarter than that,” Chloe says, worry turning into anger somewhere in her throat. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Victoria looks down, brushing her hand over her ear. “I—I only had a couple hits left, and it was nearby, and I couldn’t sleep anyway, so I kinda figured like I might as well if I’m not gonna sleep, and—”

“And you didn’t think, ‘wait, this is a one-way ticket to Bad Trip City?’” Chloe sits down beside her, sighing. “Jesus, Vic. How long ago?”

“Pretty much as soon as I got back,” Victoria admits. “I—I t-thought...”

“You’re gonna be up till like nine in the fucking morning. When does Blackwell kick you out?”

“N-noon.”

Chloe runs a hand over her scar. “God, Vic, _why_? Really?”

“I fffucking _hate_ it there,” Victoria says, leaning against Chloe. “I hate it I hate it I hate it.”

“You mean—”

“My fucking parents.”

Oh, shit. This is the one subject they’ve stayed far away from. Chloe’s talked about David and William, but the Chases are a mystery. And now Chloe’s going to know why.

“I just wanted to forget what it’s like, being back in that house,” Victoria continues, reaching out clumsily for Chloe’s hand. “It’s just—here, I’ve got you, I’ve got Taylor, I have the club and school and all that shit, my parents barely matter. But when I’m home, it’s just me and them, and it’s...” She sniffs. “It’s hiding out in my room while they scream and throw shit at each other, it’s...it’s quiet until it's not, and they just always wanna, like, _make me better_ , they always wanna see my new work so they can shit on it, everything I do is something to be criticized, I fucking _hate them_.”

“Shit,” is Chloe’s first word. “Shit, Victoria, I—I get that. I did a bunch of stupid shit when David was in the house, too.”

“It was stupid, but I was...I was leaving you.” Victoria chokes back a sob. “I thought...I dunno. I just wanted to feel something that wasn’t...”

“Worthless,” Chloe suggests, like a fill-in-the-blank question she’s answered a hundred times.

“Yeah.”

Chloe sighs, looking around the room. She spots two suitcases in the corner by Victoria’s desk. “You got all your shit packed already?”

“E-everything but tomorrow’s outfit and my pajamas,” Victoria says.

“Grab those, I’ll take the suitcases. You’re staying at my place tonight. I’m not letting you drive six hours on three hours of sleep. I’ll take you back to your car in the morning.”

Victoria throws herself on top of Chloe and buries her head in her chest. “You’re the best girlfriend,” she mumbles.

“Pretty small sample size there, Chase.”

“Well, it’s not getting any bigger ever.”

“That’s a long time.”

Victoria gives her a light punch to the stomach. “Stop it,” she moans. “Stop it. Say nice things to me.”

“You gotta be tripping pretty hard.”

“ _Chloe_ ,” Victoria groans.

“Come on, get up,” Chloe says, getting to her feet. Victoria just sort of falls sideways onto the rest of the couch, her face in the cushion.

“Help.”

Chloe laughs despite herself and grabs Victoria’s wrist, tugging so that her body is at least facing the right way. She takes both of Victoria’s hands and pulls her up. Victoria immediately leans forward onto Chloe’s shoulder and wraps her arms around her again.

“I don’t wanna go.”

 _Don’t go_ echoes somewhere in Chloe’s brain, but she rubs Victoria’s back and whispers, “Well, you’re not staying here. You can trip out on my bed.”

“No, I mean I don’t wanna go tomorrow.”

“I know.” But she has to. And then she’ll be gone. “Come on, seriously, pull back the trip for a second and grab your shit.”

Victoria huffs, but she does pull herself away so that Chloe can take both suitcases and hoist them up in one hand. She waits at the doorway until Victoria has her purse and a pile of clothing in her hands, then opens the door for her and shuts off the light.

Victoria quietly follows her out to the car, her head turning to watch the streetlights and stare at the stars as she goes, but she only wavers a little bit in her path. Chloe carefully sets the suitcases down in the back (she’d throw them but she’s guessing that a camera’s in one of them) and opens the door so Victoria can climb in.

As soon as Chloe climbs into the other side, Victoria’s leaning across the seats so that her head’s on Chloe’s shoulder.

“Vic, I need to shift,” Chloe says.

“I need to cuddle.”

“I know, but, like, there’s a bed for that fifteen minutes from here.”

Victoria grumbles wordlessly and sinks down lower so that the top of her head is against Chloe’s hip. Chloe can’t keep a smile from her lips, looking down at her pouty face. She really is cute when she lets down her guard, and apparently, she wastes those moments on Chloe exclusively.

A few minutes into the drive, Victoria gets up and stares out the window. Watching the stars. Chloe wonders what she’s seeing.

They pull into the driveway, and Chloe shuts off the car and takes a second to look at Victoria in the moonlight. Her clothes and purse sit in her lap. The stains on her cheeks shine, but her expression is soft as she continues to stare up into the cloudless December sky. Her lips look soft, too.

Chloe doesn’t want to interrupt whatever she’s thinking, whatever she’s looking at. But she’s not sure what to do. She wants to cuddle up to her, kiss her, maybe, but she’s tripping, and isn’t that not the best time to be romantic? While she’s fucked up, and Chloe isn’t? She feels awkward, just sitting here and staring, until Victoria finally turns and catches her eye.

“Oh. We should go in, huh?” Victoria asks.

“Uh, yeah, I guess. Be quiet,” Chloe says, the moment broken.

She climbs out of the car and grabs the suitcases from the back as Victoria struggles to get down from her seat. Chloe stands by, ready to drop everything if she needs to catch her, but thankfully she manages to balance on her heels and give Chloe a wavery smile.

“C’mon, acidhead,” Chloe says affectionately, heading for the door.

Once they get inside, Chloe drops off the suitcases by the edge of the doorframe and the two of them rid themselves of their footwear. Victoria’s not as quiet going up the stairs as Chloe would like, but she can hardly be blamed for it, and if Joyce wakes up, she doesn’t come out.

Once they’re in Chloe’s room, Victoria seems unsure what to do. It’s not that they’ve never hung out in here or anything, but they haven’t slept in the same bed since the storm, and Chloe can see the way Victoria’s nervous and shaking and _man_ she’s got the acid-sweats really bad. It makes her skin shine as she strips out of her clothes, leaving her in her lacy white underwear, which Chloe knows she’s staring at too long. She’s really goddamned pretty.

Chloe unzips her jeans and takes off her jacket, deciding that Victoria’s gonna be too hot to sleep next to in anything near full pajamas. Victoria doesn’t seem to want to bother with pants, either, or even buttoning up her pajama top. As Chloe pulls her bra out from under her shirt, she catches Victoria staring.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Chloe warns. “I’m not fucking you when you’re drugged.”

Victoria looks a little downcast. “Well...what are we gonna do? I’m not—I’m not sleeping for a while.”

“Hold on.” Chloe leans down and grabs her phone from her jeans’ pocket on the floor, then goes over to her desk. “Think I’ve still got it in here,” she says to herself as she rummages through the drawer, then draws out a headphone splitter. “Got earbuds somewhere?” she asks as she pulls a tangled black pair out of the drawer as well and gets to work on undoing the knot.

Victoria goes into her purse and pulls out a white pair of her own, and Chloe holds out her hand for them once she’s plugged everything into her phone. With both sets in, she moves over to the bed and lies on her back, patting the space next to her.

Victoria sits crossed-legged beside her and puts her buds in while Chloe finds the playlist. It’s very derivative of the one Rachel made when they were seventeen and just trying this whole hallucinogen thing out. She’d thrown it together, and she and Chloe had found a spot in the woods to park the truck, climb into the back, and, just like this, shared an MP3 player and a pair of earbuds while they munched and gagged on their first eighth of shrooms.

That had been the first time Rachel kissed her. Not the last. Not by far.

But Chloe was the one who added this song. As the haggard voice of Patti Smith starts coming through the wires, Victoria lays down beside Chloe and wraps her arms and legs around her, her body hot and damp and shivering and near-bare against Chloe’s skin. Chloe sets the phone down on the pillow space above their heads. Victoria presses nervous kisses against Chloe’s neck while old punk poetry weaves between guitars and piano. Chloe has no idea if this will work for Victoria, if her tastes run this way, but this is the only playlist she has and besides, someone’s gotta show her the fucking classics.

Victoria’s affection grows more urgent as the song ramps into its crescendos, and Chloe can accept it. Their lips and tongues become quite occupied for almost the full length of the song, Victoria’s hand pressing and rolling across Chloe’s chest, eliciting little gasps as Victoria traces piercings and hard nipples through the shirt. Chloe won’t stop Victoria, not yet, because she’s somehow perfectly on-fucking-rhythm with the ebb and flow of the music, but she’s not reaching lower, she’s not doing what she did last time, when Chloe just let her explore her body and didn’t give anything back, treating her like a servant. Almost as bad as when she treated Victoria like a sex doll.

As the song fades out into a simple drumbeat and a quiet speaking voice, Victoria pulls back, her breath raspy and moist on Chloe’s cheek.

“Holy shit, that’s the longest song ever,” she whispers. “We’ve been making out for an hour.”

“Ten minutes,” Chloe corrects.

“That can’t be right.”

“Acid,” Chloe reminds her.

“Right,” Victoria says with a giggle, settling back into Chloe’s side.

“She’s got another one that’s only six minutes. That’s one’s hella gay, too. Super 70’s gay, back when that was really sticking it to the man.”

“Dude that sounds awesome but like way too intense. This song’s chill,” Victoria says as the next one starts up. She runs her hand up and down Chloe’s stomach, clearly trying to calm herself down. Chloe yawns, and Victoria reaches down and grabs the covers.

Chloe closes her eyes and relaxes into the bed, ready to slip into sleep with her high-ass girlfriend on top of her and trippy punk music in her ears, but after a few songs it becomes evident that Victoria has other plans. Her hand slowly drifts down Chloe’s body until it’s resting at the waistband to her boxers. Chloe holds her breath, because she knows that she wants this but she doesn’t, she doesn’t want to think about the broader context but she is, and it’s just like the last time and that can’t happen, not that way, but—

Victoria presses two fingers between Chloe’s lips, through her underwear, and Chloe pitches. “Vic,” she whimpers as her strokes get bolder.

“You’re wet,” Victoria accuses.

“Y-yeah, but—”

“I just—I want to—”

“I know, but...” Chloe gently grabs Victoria’s wrist, and she stops. “I’m sorry. Not tonight. Head bullshit, you know?”

Victoria sighs heavily and contracts her limbs around Chloe. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “I...Sorry I’m such a whore.”

“You’re not!” Chloe exclaims, sitting up, an earbud popping out as Victoria lets go and curls into herself. “Jesus, don’t say that,” she adds, running her hand along Victoria’s arm.

“Y-you did.”

“No. No, Victoria, I want to fucking forget about that so much,” Chloe urges. “That is not—that doesn’t fucking count. That’s why I want to wait, I want that to not be what I’m thinking about, and with you all drugged-up and tripping and—it’s too close.”

Victoria sniffs. “But I want it anyway, isn’t that, isn’t that screwed up?”

“I—well, no, not from your end.” Chloe sighs. “Honestly, if _that_ hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t even hesitate, but...I really don’t want to feel like that again. Like some kind of predator, taking advantage of you when you’re messed up. Either from emotional shit or drugs, or like, both, like right now. Even if you didn’t see it that way, I would.”

Victoria makes a noncommittal whining sound and rubs her face into the pillow some more. Chloe’s fucking this up. Making her trip bad again. She has to...

She knows what to do. For once.

“Hey,” she whispers, lying back down and caressing Victoria’s cheek. “Hey, look at me.”

Victoria turns her head, her eyes shining.

“I love you.”

Victoria breaks into a wide smile.

“I know I haven’t said it, and that’s shitty,” Chloe admits. “But I do, I really do, that’s why I wanna do things right. For both of us. When you come back, all right? When we’re happy, and relaxed.”

Victoria lets out a little sob as she surges forward and kisses Chloe. Chloe closes her eyes and feels her lips. Nailed it.

Victoria breaks off the kiss and takes out her earbuds. “I—for a while, I was thinking, just, does she actually even like me? Y-you’re never the one who starts stuff, and it just felt like—like you were just doing this as a favor to me or something, I...”

Oh. So this has finally come up. Well. Chloe already talked about the other thing.

Chloe lays back and faces the ceiling. “That’s ‘cuz...I guess I’m still waiting for you to leave me.” (Like Max.) “Or cheat on me.” (Like Rachel.) “I can’t—I tried not to get invested, so it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“Wh—Chloe, I wouldn’t _ever_ —”

“You should.” Chloe feels a lump in her throat. “I’m no good for you, I’m just gonna be this fucking weight around your neck, dragging you away from your future. Unemployed dropout, living with a single mom, no prospects and a brain that’s trying to kill me. Why would you stay? Taylor likes you, she’d be good for you, the two of you could run off and rule some art college together—”

“Because I love you,” Victoria answers.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because you brought me here. Because you know what it’s like to be all screwed-up and not have anybody helping you, so you’re trying to help me. Even if you think trying to drive me away will ‘help’.” Victoria nuzzles into her neck. “You’re sweet. Even if you don’t think so. And you’re smart. And you get me. And I can nerd out with you about bullshit. And you’re fucking hot.”

“But—”

“Chloe, shut the fuck up. I don’t care if you’re unemployed, I don’t care if you don’t think you’re going anywhere. We can work on that, if that’s what’s bothering you,” Victoria continues, her voice growing bolder now. “I fucking love you. You’re the best thing in my whole life right now, and that’s not gonna change anytime soon. So we had a shitty start. So you’ve got brain problems and insecurities. So do I. We’ll make it work. It’s worth it. Fuck anyone who says different.”

Chloe shuts the fuck up. Mostly, anyway, because it’s getting kind of hard to breathe and not cry. Victoria’s fierce, unfiltered love is filling her head, forcing out everything that normally festers there, and it hurts because it feels good, and she’s just not used to that.

“I love you,” Victoria repeats, rising up and capturing her lips again.

It’s not so intense anymore. The heat’s gone from their bodies, or at least it’s dulled. When they pull apart, Chloe can look at Victoria and believe everything she just said, somehow. She runs a hand through Victoria’s hair.

“Not tonight,” Victoria whispers. “Okay. I can work with that. Because I’m coming back, I am _not_ leaving you. You gotta work harder than that. You hear me?” 

Chloe nods.

“Good.”

Victoria settles back into Chloe’s chest and puts her earbuds back in. “Hell of a way to spend the peak,” she mutters.

Chloe laughs. “So how’s that trip going?”

“Fucking awesome.”

“Tell me all about it in the morning, kay?”

“You know it.”

Chloe puts her own buds back in and slowly drifts away, Victoria’s fingers drawing designs on the inside of her wrist, the old queens of punk singing lullabies in her head.

 

* * *

 

The second goodbye is harder than the first, especially because Joyce is there and she has to hug Victoria and thank her again before they head out. Victoria promises and promises to call Chloe as soon as she gets home. As Chloe drops her off at her car and watches her drive off into the afternoon, she can relax and think, _She’ll come back. She said so._

She doesn’t expect it to happen quite so soon.

She gets the call just as she’s about to fall into her bed after staying up way too goddamn long waiting for it.

“Hey, can you let me in?”

“The fuck are you talking about, Chase?”

“I’m outside.”

“Why are you—”

The call cuts off.

All right.

Chloe carefully pads down the stairs and looks through the window in the door. Yep, that’s her, barely lit up by the streetlight, shaking in the cold. Or maybe for a different reason, ‘cuz she doesn’t look so hot.

Chloe opens the door and whispers, “Vic, what the fuck?”

“They weren’t there.”

“Huh?”

“I drove for fucking hours because they wanted me home for the whole break and they’re not there. They got invited to some...I don’t know, some retreat somewhere, one of the maids was trying to explain it but I just fucking left.” Victoria’s teeth are bared, grinding against each other. “ _Shitheads_.”

“So you’re here because...”

“I’m not staying in an empty fucking house for a week when I could just be here. With you. I might not even go back for Christmas if you let me stay, because fuck them. I’m sick of this. They didn’t even bother to tell me, they just thought I’d be happy to show up at home and sit around all alone like a good little girl,” Victoria hisses. “Fuck them. Fuck. Them.”

Chloe rushes forward and hugs her.

“I am so goddamn proud of you right now,” she whispers.

“You’ll let me—”

“Fucking _duh_. Might have to talk mom into it, but you’re being a badass rebel right now and I feel a moral need to support that.”

Victoria sighs and clings to Chloe’s back.

“I did a little coke,” she admits.

“Was kinda looking that way. Vic—”

“I know, that was dumb, but I was tired and I needed to drive faster and I needed to get back here.”

“Don’t do that shit. You coulda hurt somebody.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m still fucking psyched you’re here.”

Victoria laughs and then sort of collapses into Chloe.

“You’re about to pass out, huh,” Chloe remarks.

Victoria just nods.

“Let’s get you upstairs. We’ve got a lot of explaining to do in the morning.”


	11. Perfectly Dysfunctional

Victoria wakes up in Chloe’s arms, and it is perfect.

Yesterday burns in her bones. Too little sleep. Too much crying. Too little company. Too much rage.

But here, she is safe, and she is surrounded by silence. The slow, low hum of Chloe’s breath is all that can exist in her ears. It’s colored with hints of her voice.

_I’m so goddamn proud of you._

_I love you._

That voice is no longer the one that rips her open in her head. _Say nice things to me_ , that’s what Victoria said. She didn’t expect Chloe to actually obey. But now that she has, now that she’s shown Victoria more of the darkness inside herself, maybe more than anyone else has ever seen, it’s impossible to imagine that this moment could end.

Her hair’s a mess. She probably bled makeup all over Chloe’s pillow. But the only person who could see her now would have no harsh words, no disgust for her. Not anymore. They know each other too well for that to flare up again.

At least, that’s what she hopes.

_You’re a cockroach, Vic._

Well, cockroaches are the only thing left when the rest of the world falls apart. They thrive in the dark places where nothing else can live. Survivors. Like Chloe. Maybe they can survive together.

She wishes she’d gotten something to drink, or eat, or just somehow made it so her body didn’t have any goddamn physical needs, so she could bask in the filtered red, white, and blue of the afternoon sun through Chloe’s window for eternity, or until she can kiss Chloe again. Whichever. But that shaking drive, powered by drugs and music played too loud and anger, drained her body of everything it had. It needs to be filled back up.

What a pain in the ass.

She tries to sort of shimmy her way out of Chloe’s grasp without actually breaking her embrace. Chloe grumbles and holds tighter. Victoria holds her breath, trying to figure out if she’s actually awake or just clinging to her in a dream.

“No moving,” Chloe mumbles, so she is awake, and feeling the same way that Victoria is. Well. Maybe she can stay a bit longer.

Then Victoria’s phone starts buzzing, somewhere on the floor. Fuck that. She knows exactly who that is, and she needs to be clear about exactly her fucking opinions on the subject.

“Be right back,” she promises, wriggling out of Chloe’s grip and putting her feet on the floor. She crouches down and fishes through the pocket of her discarded slacks, drawing out the phone and standing up.

As she puts it to her ear, she hears, “Victoria Maribeth Chase, where the hell are you?”

“Hello to you too, Dad.”

“Don’t you take that tone with me,” he warns as Chloe sits up and stares worriedly at Victoria. “Chester said—”

“I came home, and I left. And?”

“Victoria, don’t interrupt—”

“Or you’ll what?” Victoria seethes. “What exactly are you going to do?”

“I don’t have to take this kind of disrespect—”

“Well then neither do I.” She hangs up. As she lowers the phone, Chloe looks over to her and grins.

“Nice,” Chloe remarks. “But if I know shitty dad-types, he’s gonna call back right about—”

Buzz.

“Do not hang up on me, Victoria.”

“Again, Dad: Or you’ll what?”

She hears an annoyed grunt. “Fine. Have your crappy little attitude. You’ll regret it someday. Where the hell are you?”

“Oh, my girlfriend’s place.”

“ _What_?”

“Well, I figured since you didn’t feel the need to stay at home, I didn’t either, so I went somewhere where there’s someone who gives a rat’s ass about me.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Victoria—”

“You didn’t even think to tell me you’d be gone. You didn’t think that maybe the only reason I was coming back was that I thought you wanted to see me, but clearly you fucking don’t. So I’m done being nice to you, trying to make you happy, since you never fucking do that for me.”

“Do _not_ swear at me, young lady—”

“ _Or you’ll what?_ Pull me out of school? Ruin my chances of continuing your ‘legacy’? Let all of your fancy rich friends know that your daughter is a disappointment?”

“I—Victoria.” A heavy sigh. “I didn’t realize you felt—”

“Because you never bothered to look. Because you didn’t care. All you care about is yourself and how good you look. That’s why I _am_ getting away with this. I will call the fucking cops the next time you scream at me. I will bring down the law, the next time you or Mom decides it’s time to start throwing shit around like fucking children. Or, I’ll stay right here, and you can have your shitty little Christmas all to yourselves, and I’ll keep being amazing over here without your _guidance_.”

“You have to come back sometime, Victoria,” her father warns. “I’m not forgetting this conversation.”

“Good. Remember it for summer, because I will. I’m not fucking around. Do you have _any idea_ how much better it is, not living there? Any fucking clue?”

“And where are you staying now, huh? Does it have the staff _we_ pay for? The—”

Victoria laughs. “That’s the angle you’re going with? You’re not even trying.”

“If you think you’re getting any more payments or presents—”

“ _Money_ is not the issue here, Dad. It’s just you. And how shitty you’ve been to me. Think about that.”

She hangs up again and cancels the next incoming call, then snaps a picture of Chloe in her underwear, sitting back on her hands, looking _very_ proud. She sends it off to her father’s number with the caption, _And this is what she looks like_.

She shuts the phone off as it starts ringing again, and realizes the whole thing is shaking in her hand. Her whole body’s shaking, actually, and her eyes are stinging, and Chloe’s getting up and wrapping her in a strong hug. The phone slips from her uncertain hand and falls to the floor. Victoria feels the fear that she’d been powering through wash over her, the rage leaving her as Chloe holds tight and whispers, “You’re a badass,” in her ear.

“H-holy shit, what did I just do,” Victoria stammers. “Holy shit he’s gonna be so mad.”

“You stood up to him.”

“B-but that was _stupid_ —”

“No, it wasn’t. Did you hear yourself? He might try to get you under his thumb again, but you’ve got him pinned. You threatened the only thing rich shits like him ever care about. Looking good. Just keep up that attitude with him, don’t let him think he can control you, not ever again,” Chloe urges. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“H-he could take away my phone, when I come back, he did it before, he—”

“If you go back there and I don’t hear from you, I’m coming over one night and stealing you the fuck away. Has he hit you before?”

Victoria’s not sure what counts as hitting. Never enough to leave marks. Just to scare her.

“Vic.”

“I can’t go back there,” Victoria mumbles. “Not after what I said.”

“Then don’t. We’ll keep you here, if we have to. Mom will get it.”

“B—but I need to go to college, I need their support, what the _fuck_ was I—”

“That’s them talking. Not you. You don’t need anybody but you.”

 _I need you_ , Victoria thinks. But Chloe’s on a roll.

“Nothing’s worth living with shitheads like that. Believe me. I know.”

And Victoria knows. Knows why Chloe needed her home away from hell, knows that David had done far more than just one bad argument in the middle of a bad period in Chloe’s life. She’s heard it all. Somehow, she’d never thought to apply it to herself.

“We’ll figure out something,” Chloe promises. “I’m not letting you leave until I’m sure you’re safe.”

Chloe holds her until the shakes pass.

 

Victoria does have to take a shower. She has to bring her stuff in from the car, practically taking over the bathroom. She and Chloe scrounge in the kitchen for leftovers. They settle into the couch and let some mediocre show play out, barely paying attention until Joyce gets home.

After Chloe explains the situation, Joyce gives her one of her great big hugs, and promises that she’ll be safe here. No matter what. And then...

As Victoria pulls away and sits down at the table to enjoy Joyce’s dinner, Joyce gives Chloe a concerned look. “So,” she says, “I’ve been talking to David.”

Chloe freezes with her fork halfway to her mouth. “To finalize the divorce, right?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“No—”

“You are fucking kidding me. After we just told you about Vic’s shitty dad, you think this is a good time to bring this up. Mom, I swear, if I see that man again...”

“I-I know he wasn’t the greatest father to you, but we’re all he has. You know they fired him,” Joyce says. “Whenever I talk to him, he seems so...”

“Correction, mom, _you’re_ all he has. He never had me. That’s why he was such a shithead.”

“Chloe, it was hard on him too, he feels terrible about...about that argument—”

“You mean when he kicked me out?”

Victoria quietly chews her food, unwilling to step between an angry Chloe and...well, anything, really. She knows how that tends to go.

“Chloe, he was just trying to motivate you to—”

“Then he shouldn’t have fucking said ‘I’ll put you out on the street where you belong’ if he didn’t _mean_ it,” Chloe replies, setting down her fork and glaring at Joyce. “I went by _his_ terms.”

“Chloe—”

“If he’d ever fucking bothered trying to understand me, he’dve known where I was. He’dve known what I’d do. His gun, mom,” Chloe spits, pointing to the ragged edges of her right ear. “But no. I’m too ‘mopey.’ After the only two people who ever got me died, I’m too fucking mopey.”

“I just want you to talk to him,” Joyce says. “See if you can forgive him.”

“Spoiler, mom: I can’t. I can’t forgive him for five years of tearing me down, calling me worthless, harassing all my friends, and, oh yeah, _spying on us._ In your house! What the hell are you thinking?”

“He’s...he’s a damaged man, Chloe.”

“Well I’m not the fucking People Repairman. He wants help, he can go see a therapist, like he shoulda done years ago.” Chloe shoots up from the table. “I’m not hungry.” She stalks away from the table and pounds up the stairs.

Joyce slumps down and puts a hand to her forehead as Victoria wonders what, exactly, one does in this situation. She wants to go talk to Chloe, but she’s also hungry, and Joyce looks just exhausted.

“Can you...talk to her?” Joyce pleads. “What Chloe tried to do, it’s eating him up. I don’t know if I want him back in the house, but I want to know he’ll be okay. I do love him.”

“I’m kind of on Chloe’s side on this,” Victoria admits. “If she doesn’t want to see him...and she’ll probably just yell at him, anyway. I don’t know if this can be fixed like this.”

“I oughta _try_ ,” Joyce says. “He’s my husband, and he’s had it rough, too.”

“Well, like Chloe said, maybe that’s not your job.”

“It sure feels like it is.” Joyce sighs and takes another bite of mashed potatoes while she thinks. “He’s coming by tomorrow,” she says after she swallows. “Can you please—even if Chloe doesn’t think she can handle it, maybe if she just _talked_ to him, he would listen, this time. He’s seen what happens when he doesn’t. So have all of us. Maybe...maybe he can change.”

Victoria isn’t sure what to say. She’d like to believe that. She herself has gotten better over the past few weeks with Chloe, turning off the bitchiness, focusing on the people she likes instead of tearing down the ones she doesn’t. But Chloe is so angry, and she’s got plenty of reason. “I don’t know if Chloe’s the one to help him,” Victoria says at last.

“She’s the only one who can. She’s the one he hurt. If she can’t forgive him, how is he gonna forgive himself?”

“That sounds like his problem. Not hers. She’s got enough.”

Joyce looks at her. “She really picked you right, didn’t she? I wouldn’t think so, lookin’ at you, but you two are on the same damned wavelength.”

“It’s more like I picked her. She just gave in eventually,” Victoria says, shrugging.

“Just promise me you’ll get her to try. Or maybe she can just yell at him, if that helps her,” Joyce says, falling back against her chair. “He should see someone. He really should. Maybe if Chloe says that when she’s letting it out, that’ll be enough to convince him.”

Victoria sighs. Saying no to Joyce is difficult. It’s easy to see how much care she’s got in that heart of hers, even if it’s misplaced. “I’ll try,” she says, getting up from the table. “But you know her. She’s pretty stubborn.”

“She gets that from her mother,” Joyce says, a sad smile coming to her face.

Victoria heads upstairs to find Chloe sitting with her legs apart on the edge of her bed, fingers tangled in her hair.

“God, I’d fucking forgotten,” she says as soon as Victoria closes the door. “Look at me. Shaking like a pussy or something. Just the thought of him back in this house...” She lets out a staggered sigh as Victoria sits down beside her. “You forget how nice it is to just be able to relax in your own fucking room,” she says. “Until you can do it again.”

Victoria knows that feeling. Her room at Blackwell, lonely as it sometimes was, was peace and serenity compared to home.

“When he was here, I was always navigating a fucking minefield. Play my music too loud, come home at the wrong time, and it was time for him to get shitty at me. Try to make me better.”

Victoria puts an arm around Chloe’s shoulders and waits for her to talk it out.

“It’s like, you tell yourself you don’t care. That he’s just an asshole and his opinion doesn’t matter and it doesn’t hurt when he screams at you. But now that he’s gone, it’s like...I realize how much time I used to spend, thinking of how to escape him or avoid him or even make him _like_ me. Sometimes I’d think that, because I was being true to myself, he’d always hate me. That I was destined to become the fucking loser he thought I was.” Chloe chokes back a sob. “And I am, right? I’m gonna be _twenty_ in March, and I didn’t even manage to graduate high school. He was right.”

“That’s him talking,” Victoria says. “Not you.”

Chloe leans into her chest.

“You’ve had it rough. He _made_ it rough on you. I know what that’s like.”

“ _You’re_ still in school,” Chloe mutters. “You’re doing fine. Probably got like a 4.0.”

“3.5, this semester,” Victoria admits. “And that’s ‘cuz I sucked up to teachers and made my friends do my homework for me for a bunch of it. And everyone knows my family’s rich. People give me a leg up. And you didn’t get that. And that’s _fine_. Like, do you actually wanna run off to college, or the military, or whatever he wants you doing?”

“No,” Chloe sighs.

“What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t know. Somethin’ with my hands. Something dirty and physical.”

“So work towards that, not whatever he wants. GED, trade schools, whatever. I’ll help you.”

“I coulda been working toward that anytime,” Chloe says. “But I’m not.”

“Because your life has been shit lately!” Victoria exclaims. “Rachel died, Max died, and you’ve got some serious fucking brain problems _before_ that. And he was no fucking help.”

Chloe’s silent for a minute. “I started getting these...these episodes, I guess, when I was fourteen,” she says, finally. “Before Dad died. But you’re right. When he came along, they just got so much harder to handle. I didn’t have _space_.”

“So he doesn’t get to come back here, right?”

“Fuck no.”

“Well, Joyce says he’s coming over tomorrow to talk. Tell him that.”

“Tomorrow. Ugh.”

“But Joyce also said that he’s fucked-up, too.”

“I know he is. He took out his war-rage on everyone at Blackwell.”

“So try to help him. Like you helped me.”

“The difference is, it was never really your fault,” Chloe says. “Like, I tried to pretend it was, but really, you were just tangled up in shit you had no idea about. I’m the one who tried to hit up Nathan for money. I’m the one who—”

“Did you shoot Max?”

“I—”

“Then it’s not your fault.”

“But it _is_ his fault, that’s what I was trying to say. Everything he did, _he did_ , nobody was forcing him to be a shitty stepdad. I don’t want to help him, shitty as that sounds. I just want him gone.”

“Okay. Tell him that tomorrow.” Victoria gives Chloe a kiss on the cheek. “If you yell and scream, fine. I’ll be there with you. I can’t judge you. I just railed against my dad this morning and I have no fucking intention of patching things up right now, either.”

“I love you, Victoria.” Chloe falls further against her.

“I love you too.”

Chloe intertwines their fingers in the space between them and holds tight, recovering her breath.

“I guess I’ll go down and finish dinner,” she says at last. “Maybe talk to Mom a bit. You coming with?”

Victoria’s gaze drifts to Chloe’s nightstand, to her abandoned, unpowered phone. “I’ll wait here for you,” she replies. “You guys need some privacy.”

“Okay.” Chloe gets up and slips her hand out of Victoria’ grasp. “See you soon.”

As she leaves the room, Victoria reaches for her phone and powers it on. Lots of missed calls. Text notifications. From Mom.

 

**Maribeth:**

_I know your phone is off, so you won’t get this for a while. Or maybe you won’t get it at all, but I have to try._

_Your father has calmed down since this morning, and we’ve been talking. We do want you home for Christmas. Obviously there’s a lot going on in your life that we don’t know about, and you don’t think you can trust us with it. That’s on us. We’re trying to figure out what we did to make our only child so angry. You told us the trigger, but clearly this has been coming for a long time. We need to talk about why._

 

Victoria reads the message over and over, trying to think of how to respond. When Chloe comes back in, she holds up the phone so she can read it.

“Fuck them,” Chloe reminds her, sitting down beside her and leaning over to keep her eyes on the screen. “That really how you wanna spend your Christmas? Hashing it out with them?”

 

**Me:**

_No._

_I don’t trust you not to take my phone._

_I don’t trust you to stay calm when I’m there._

_I’m staying here. You need more time to think. So do I._

 

**Maribeth:**

_That’s disappointing._

 

**Me:**

_So are a lot of things about me, apparently._

 

**Maribeth:**

_I’m sorry if we made you feel that way._

_You’re our only child. We want you to be successful._

 

The next text requires a suggestion from Chloe.

 

**Me:**

_Maybe you should want me to be happy, instead._

 

**Maribeth:**

_Maybe we should._

 

**Me:**

_Don’t contact me again._

_Not unless I talk to you first._

 

**Maribeth:**

_We already bought your presents. Should we send them to your girlfriend’s house?_ _  
_

 

**Me:**

_I’m not giving you her address. Send them to my Blackwell mailbox, if you have to._

 

**Maribeth:**

_All right._

_Stay safe._

_Please talk to me when you’re ready._

 

The phone’s shaking in Victoria’s hands again, and a tear drops onto the screen. Chloe gently takes it from her hands and sets it aside, then pulls her into an embrace.

“We’re fucked-up,” Chloe says quietly.

But they’re fucked-up together.

 

* * *

 

When David arrives the next day, Victoria sits on the steps and watches as Chloe opens the door, then stands there, arms folded, glaring him down. Victoria can see the way Chloe’s shoulders rise as she stares at him.

“Can I come in?” is the first thing he asks.

“No. You’re good out there. This’ll be short,” Chloe states.

“Chloe—”

“Nope. I talk. You listen.”

Victoria glances over to Joyce, waiting in the kitchen. Their eyes meet.

“I was so fucking happy to have you out of my life. I barely realized how relieved I was until Mom told me you were ‘talking.’ You know how that felt? You probably do. You’ve got PTSD, right?” Chloe asks.

“What do you—”

“My hair stood on end. Goosebumps all over. Heart pounding. Everything felt tense. Because I thought, God, he could come back. He could make my life a living hell again, just like that, just when I thought I was free.”

“Chloe, I’m so sorry about that morning, my—my head wasn’t in the right place, and I took it out on you—”

“I don’t want to hear your fucking excuses. You _hit_ me.”

Victoria and Joyce share a gasp.

“Yeah. That’s abuse, David.”

“I—I wanna change, I—”

“It’s too fucking late for that. Sorry. Maybe you should’ve tried to change the first time that you made a fourteen-year-old girl cry. Or after the first time you hit her. Not now. Not five years later. I can’t stand the fucking sight of you. I want to slam this door right in your face. You don’t get to waltz back into my life like nothing happened after your gun nearly killed me.”

Victoria hears David let out a hard sigh.

“I have to fix the damage you did. My mom does. My girlfriend does. You don’t get to be a part of that. You broke it. It’s gone now. Go fix yourself, instead. Don’t do this to some other family. But you lost this one, you get me? Even if Mom somehow forgives you a couple years down the line, I’m never going to.”

“I’m sorry,” David repeats quietly.

“Apology not accepted. It’s not that easy. Go back to wherever you’re staying. I’m gonna get really angry if I have to look at your face for another minute.”

“Can I—Can I talk to your mother for a second?”

“Fine.”

Chloe comes over to Victoria as Joyce emerges from the kitchen and walks outside to meet David. They close the door, and Victoria and Chloe don’t hear their talk, not clearly, anyway. Chloe loses her careful composure as she sits down beside Victoria, inhaling a sharp sob. Victoria holds her until Joyce comes back in.

“Well, that could’ve gone worse,” she says, walking over to the two of them. “You gonna be all right, Chloe?”

Chloe pulls back from Victoria’s sideways embrace. “As long as he doesn’t come back,” she answers warily.

“I—I didn’t know he’d hit you. And I didn’t realize how it made you feel when he was around. I...” Joyce runs a hand through her hair. “I guess I’ll get the paperwork filed. I’m still going to talk to him, but you’re right. I can’t bring him back into this house with the way he treated you.”

Chloe’s lower lip quivers as she stands up and puts her arms around Joyce. As Joyce rubs her back, whispering apologies, Victoria feels relief flood her system. Chloe’s free. Of that particular demon, at least.

Chloe breaks off from her mother and silently reaches down for Victoria’s hand, wiping at her eyes with the other.

“I’ll call you down for dinner,” Joyce tells them as they head upstairs.

Chloe collapses onto the bed, lying on her back and staring into the ceiling as Victoria crawls up next to her. She holds her tight and lets her cry without comment, without words. They’re riding out this storm together, as difficult as it is, as much as they might just be screwing everything up along the way. Neither of them really knows what they’re doing. But they have someone to blunder through it with, each of them, and Victoria’s never had that before.

Victoria falls asleep with Chloe in her arms, and it is perfect.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hate built from fucking each other’s lives up_   
>  _Inured to a sinking ship, still polishing the brass_   
>  _For everything I may become, I’ll forever credit you_   
>  _Because no matter what, whether good or bad_   
>  _It was together that we made it through_   
>  _(It is together that we’ll make it through.)_


	12. Twin High-Maintenance Machines

Victoria wakes up to a text.

 

**Maribeth:**

_Merry Christmas, Victoria._

 

She sinks into Chloe’s office chair and sighs. She told Mom not to contact her, but staring at this just makes her think of her and Dad, alone, sitting in the living room on Christmas morning, without their daughter.

But then she looks over to Chloe, stirring in the morning light, twisting the covers around herself. And she remembers Joyce, downstairs, singing something to herself as the smell of bacon rolls under the doorframe.

She puts the phone down without sending anything back. She’s not ready for that. What she is ready to do is lightly shake Chloe awake, get dressed, and lead her grumbling girlfriend downstairs to the kitchen table.

Joyce didn’t get a tree this year. In fact, it barely seems like Christmas at all as Joyce sets down their breakfast and joins them at the table. Just like any other morning since things calmed down around here. It’s been hanging over all of them, of course it has, but it’s also been peaceful. Soft words, quiet reassurances as Victoria helps Chloe study, teaches her how to write a resume, helps her find places to apply.

But then Joyce gets up and heads into the garage, and Chloe gives Victoria a kiss on the cheek and a promise to be back soon. Victoria knows what they’re doing, and she also knows that she didn’t get them anything, which sucks. It just slipped away. She couldn’t leave Chloe to go and find a present. And what could she even give her, anyway? Victoria can’t call in a favor from Mom and Dad anymore, and her money’s suddenly precious. And what could she give Chloe to repay everything she and Joyce have done for her?

Joyce makes it back first, a big blue box in her arms, as well as a much smaller white one on top of it. She sets them down at the table just as Chloe pounds back down the stairs and shouts, “Me first!”

“All right, Chloe, all right,” Joyce say as Chloe sets down a jewel case in front of Victoria. It’s not wrapped, so Victoria gets to see what it is immediately.

A drawing of Victoria sits in a lightly-sketched corner on the front of the case, cigarette smoke curling from her hand. In Chloe’s all-caps block lettering, above her head, are the words VICTORIA SONGS.

Oh.

Victoria opens the jewel case as Chloe bounces on her feet next to her, apparently too nervous to sit down. There’s no art on the disc itself, because it’s entirely covered by VICTORIA SONGS and a list of 17 tracks, almost none of which Victoria recognizes. But they matter to Chloe.

“Do you like it?” Chloe asks.

“I don’t know,” Victoria replies, looking up to her and grinning. “Haven’t listened to it yet.”

“You love it, you little tease.”

“Yes, yes, you two are adorable,” Joyce laughs. “Here, this is for you, too.” She slides the white box across the table. “Don’t know if they’re to your taste, but if you don’t, Chloe might like them.”

Victoria takes off the lid and beholds a pair of black skull earrings. Nothing like anything she has in her jewelry box, and they wouldn’t match anything in her wardrobe. But they’re great.

“Ooh, look at that, we’ll make a punk rock girl out of you yet,” Chloe coos. “What d’ya think, Mom? Dye her hair, let her borrow some of my clothes...”

Victoria smiles, thinking about it. That might be fun for a while. She might not keep it, but maybe for a concert...

Right. “Thank you so much, Joyce,” she says. “I love them.”

Joyce smiles, but it’s got something else in it. She looks down at the blue box. “This one’s for you, Chloe,” she says, pushing it towards her. “From me. And David.”

Chloe’s face falls, but she does sit down and start unwrapping it. Once the lid’s off, she runs her fingers along what’s inside. Victoria leans over. It’s not name-brand, she knows that right away, but by Joyce and Chloe’s standards, that leather jacket isn’t cheap, either. Chloe’s lips purse as she stares into it.

“...where’s he at today?” she asks.

“He’s with his parents. I’m gonna go over soon.”

“I’m...” Chloe sighs. “I’m glad he’s not alone.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t have a bigger Christmas, but money’s been tight, and...”

“I know, mom. I’m gonna help with that soon.”

Joyce stands up, and Chloe does too, and they share a short hug.

“You don’t have to wear it,” Joyce tells her.

“Okay.”

“Just know that he cares. And I do too.”

“Okay.”

Chloe pulls back and puts a hand on Victoria’s shoulder. “C’mon, Vic, let’s go back to bed,” she says, tucking the jacket under an arm. Victoria grabs VICTORIA SONGS and follows her upstairs.

She sets the case down on Chloe’s desk while Chloe hangs up the jacket in her closet. As they turn to each other, Chloe tucks her hands into her pockets.

“It’s a nice jacket,” she murmurs as Victoria approaches her.

“Sorry I didn’t get you anything,” Victoria says, putting her arms around her.

“You didn’t have to. Just...just, like, you being here is enough.”

Victoria kisses her. Just as they break apart, Victoria hears the front door close. At the sound, Chloe looks into her eyes and gives her a manic grin. “And now she’s gone.”

Before Victoria quite processes that, her back’s up against the wall with Chloe’s height chart on it, and Chloe’s breathing on her neck.

“Maybe you do have a present for me,” she growls, and Victoria’s nerves spark.

“Maybe I do,” Victoria replies, her body full of tremors all of the sudden.

Chloe’s hand runs down Victoria’s stomach as she presses her into the wall. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” Victoria breathes.

“No shit. How?”

Victoria pushes her away for just a second, then turns around and braces herself against the wall, waiting for Chloe to get the message.

“You sure?” Chloe asks as she pushes herself against Victoria’s back, her lips grazing Victoria’s ear.

Victoria knows this is a lot like that first time, but she can’t help it. This time will be different. Chloe’s not keeping herself at a distance and screaming at her and calling her a whore. Chloe’s hand is lightly wrapping around her neck, the other hiking up Victoria’s skirt from the front. Chloe’s asking if she’s sure.

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Victoria groans as she feels Chloe’s finger lightly press into her leggings. They’re in the _way,_ though, they’re blocking Chloe from touching the flash-fire that’s burning in her blood, muffling her sensation. “Pull them down,” she orders.

Chloe briefly crouches down and grabs Victoria’s leggings and panties, yanking them just far enough down her thighs for Victoria’s burning lips to breathe. Chloe gets back in position, her nails lightly pushing against Victoria’s neck as she angles her hand, and then a finger slips inside of Victoria and she moans.

Chloe’s body rocks against hers as Chloe kisses her ear, the grip on her neck tightening just enough, at just the right times, to cut off Victoria’s breath for a second and send a spike into her spine. But even with Chloe’s pace growing faster and faster, even with that hand moving down to squeeze a breast through her sweater, it’s not quite enough because it’s not what Victoria has been fantasizing about for-fucking-ever.

“B-bite me,” she whimpers. Chloe’s mouth leaves her cheek for a second.

“Wha—”

“Bite. Me.”

“Holy shit, Chase.”

“ _Do it._ ”

Chloe’s lips wrap around her neck and suck, but, no, “ _Teeth,_ ” Victoria demands. She feels them lightly scrape her flesh, but _no_ , “Harder,” and they sink right in, and, “ _Harder_ , faster, God, _Chloe—_ ”

 _Yes._ Oh, God, yes. Victoria can’t actually say those words because there isn’t even air running through her anymore, it’s all electricity and blackened vision and seizing muscles. Chloe has to hold on to her so she won’t fall down, legs shaking in her heels and bound together by the tangled mess of her leggings. When Victoria’s breath comes back, it’s still not over, because Chloe just held on where she was already holding so the pressure is still on her clit, still squeezing on her breast, and that consistent touch sends inconsistent static shock into Victoria’s limbs and makes her twitch and let out little moans. Victoria can hear Chloe’s labored breath in her ear, feel Chloe’s crotch grinding against her ass. She’s barely controlling herself.

“Fuck, Victoria,” Chloe says in a hoarse whisper.

Victoria swallows as if that’ll stop her from spasming, but Chloe’s fingers are moving again, rubbing and squeezing, the energy in Chloe coming out through them. “C-Chloe,” she manages, trying to stabilize herself.

Chloe lets out a panting laugh. “That all you can say now?”

Victoria giggles as Chloe’s arms wrap around her waist. Chloe pecks along her neck, in a little circle around the bite mark, aching pleasantly. Rational thought is slowly leaking back in. She is now officially _gross._ Her whole body feels caked in sweat. She really should’ve taken her clothes off, but...well, she couldn’t help it. Slowing down at any point seemed like madness. She wonders if Chloe feels the same way.

Victoria pushes off the wall and turns around, and instantly she’s caught in a long, hot kiss. Chloe’s hand pushes back under her skirt. But now it is too much, just too much, and Victoria has to break away from Chloe’s lips and whisper, “Stop,” into her mouth. Chloe instantly obeys, drawing back for a second.

Before she can get her “Sorry” out, Victoria rushes into her and pushes her onto the bed, her legs dangling over the side. Victoria wavers because her legs are still bound, and, cursing at having to stop, kicks off her heels and peels herself out of her underwear as fast as she possibly can while Chloe fumbles with her own jeans.

Victoria knows what she wants to do. She’s not sure if she knows _how_ to do it, but as Chloe slides her pants down her legs and Victoria sees the wet spot on her boxers, she knows she’s not gonna be able to resist trying. She kneels down in front of Chloe and helps her out of her underwear, then gently presses her hands against Chloe’s thighs and pushes them apart.

“ _Fuck_ , Victoria,” Chloe repeats as Victoria edges closer, head light from Chloe’s scent. Victoria hasn’t gotten to really see Chloe so close like this, and it’s completely intoxicating, the way she’s quivering, anticipating, as her hand reaches down and tangles in Victoria’s hair. Victoria reaches in and brushes over Chloe’s lips, then spreads them wide, reveling in the high-pitched _sound_ Chloe makes as Victoria manipulates her. Victoria takes a deep breath, leans in, and tries.

Chloe lets out a long, strangled moan as Victoria experiments with her tongue, flicking here, long strokes there, testing to see where Chloe is going to break. Then, she does something right, and Chloe groans out, “ _Jesus fucking Christ_ , like _that_.” So she likes the swirl. All right. Like that.

Chloe’s rocking her whole body, the bed squeaking beneath her as she lets out increasingly creative swears before each repetition of “Victoria.” And then she just stops talking at all, her fingers clenched on Victoria’s scalp, vibrating there as she loses her breath.

“ _Shit_ ,” she cries, and then she’s just gone, falling back onto the bed and shuddering, putting a hand over her face as Victoria rises up, then falls right beside her, out of breath and kind of lock-jawed. But it was so fucking worth it. She can still taste Chloe on her tongue. She nuzzles up to Chloe as she twitches with aftershocks, that hand still covering her face. Victoria runs a finger along the shaved side of her head, tracing the scar, the torn edges of her ear. Hers.

Chloe takes in a sharp inhale, trailing her fingers down her face. “God _damn_ , Vic,” she mutters.

Victoria leans over for a kiss, but Chloe jolts her head back. “Don’t fuckin’ kiss me after you went down on me, perv,” she says with a chuckle, batting at Victoria’s chest. Victoria smiles and keeps leaning forward and kisses those laughing lips anyway.

“Gross,” Chloe declares, but she’s still smiling.

And Victoria’s not done. She paws at Chloe’s shirt, feeling for her piercings. She loves those. She loves Chloe’s whole fucking body. She loves Chloe's entire existence. This is the best Christmas she’s ever had.

 

* * *

 

Victoria knows where to find Chloe. They’d agreed. Midnight. They gotta kiss.

Fuck, Victoria is wasted.

This New Year’s Eve party is a blast, but it’s also eleven-fifty and Victoria’s stuck in the middle of the dancefloor with no graceful way out. She could keep dancing, that’s somehow easy, but the minute she tries to actually walk she feels herself losing balance quickly. She’s gonna make for a hell of a sight if she keeps stumbling around Zach’s living room like this, but, Chloe’s out back. Chloe’s out back and they need to fucking kiss or this whole thing is pointless.

She’s not sure how, exactly, but she manages to wander the hallways and find the back door eventually. Probably too late, that feels like it took a million years. But as she emerges into the backyard, she spots Chloe’s blue hair under the porchlight and everything’s fine again.

She steps over Taylor, lying on her back, and tumbles into Chloe, pressing her against the wall.

“Hello to you too, drunkie,” Chloe says, ruffling Victoria’s hair.

“Mmmf,” Victoria says, because she’s kissing Chloe now.

“Victoria sure has gotten into the PDA, huh?” Dana says from somewhere nearby. Victoria’s not sure where. Maybe just to her left? Is that what’s going on? A line of three girls — nope, there’s Justin and Juliet over there with her. Justin, Juliet, Dana, Chloe, Taylor. That’s the order. Okay.

Victoria pulls back from Chloe. “You guys having a good time?” she asks, looking around the yard and finding that it is just these five.

“It’s chill back here,” Justin reports as he slumps over Juliet’s shoulders. “Well, as long as you didn’t bring any friends."

“Guys, guys!” Juliet says, bringing out her phone. “Thirty seconds!”

There’s a sudden scramble around Victoria and Chloe as they embrace and stare into each other’s eyes. Chloe’s got laugh lines around hers. And they’ve got a pretty significant halo of red around the blue. But they’re Chloe’s eyes, so they’re perfect. Victoria is dimly aware that Juliet’s counting down, but now she’s kind of lost again as Chloe gives her a dreamy smile.

Luckily, Chloe’s paying more attention, and she’s the one who actually starts the kiss. It’s too short. Way too short. They need to be alone now.

“Ooh, Taylor and Dana, I like it,” Chloe calls out, and Victoria whips her head around to see the two of them looking away from each other and smiling a little bit. Well, Taylor’s smiling a lot. Dana looks kind of confused. “Trevor’s got no chance,” Chloe goads.

“Shut up, it was just a kiss, you ass,” Taylor replies.

“Mhmm, sure, that’s why Dana looks all gay-panicked right now and you look like you won the lottery.”

“You’re such a dick, Chloe.”

“You love it.”

Victoria’s tired of paying attention to anyone but Chloe. She’ll talk to Taylor later. So she leans into Chloe and murmurs, “Let’s go home.”

“Too wasted to keep partying, O Blackwell Queen?” Chloe asks.

Victoria leans up and whispers in Chloe’s ear, “Wanna fuck you.”

Chloe laughs out loud and strokes Victoria’s back. “All right, fine, _I guess._ I gotta take this wino home, guys. Dana, calculate how gay you are and get me the answer by tomorrow.”

“Leave her alone, Chloe,” Juliet sighs, Justin still hanging onto her.

“I am literally doing that thing right now. C’mon, Vic.”

Victoria fades a little bit between the backyard and the truck, but she’s happy to find herself in the passenger seat and leaning against Chloe’s shoulder again.

“Vic, I gotta shift.”

“I gotta cuddle.”

“I know.” Chloe takes her by the forehead and lightly shoves her back. “Soon.”

Chloe puts the car in gear and starts navigating the Bay’s streets. The streetlights passing overhead light her up, darken her, light her up again. She is so beautiful. Victoria could watch her forever.

“Shit,” Chloe remarks suddenly as they stop at a red light. “Could you get my CD binder real quick?”

“Mm, sure,” Victoria mumbles, reaching down to the floor and bringing up the object in question. Chloe reaches up and hits the cab light on Victoria’s side.

“Me and Rachel had this...this tradition, kind of. I know I’m with you, and she’s gone, but...”

Victoria’s heart breaks as she hears the hesitation in Chloe’s voice.

“‘Sokay,” she slurs, patting Chloe on the shoulder. “M’not jealous.”

“It’s just...can you get out _The Sunset Tree_?”

Victoria nods and unzips the binder, flipping through. It sticks out from the rest of Chloe’s hand-labeled CDs, because the label isn’t written in block letters. It’s fine cursive. _For Chloe,_ and a little heart, follow the title.

She slides it into the stereo, and Chloe reaches over and skips to track three. The piano pounds into the silence of the night. Chloe’s fingers start dancing on the steering wheel, unable to decide whether to keep time, follow the piano line, or go with the incoming guitar. But Chloe’s voice is certain.

Victoria is in total awe. She’s never heard Chloe sing before. She knows every word and she says them like fire, like rage, like love and devotion and memory. She’s not perfectly on-key, but neither is the guy singing, it doesn’t matter, this song is raw. And Victoria starts to understand the chorus. It’s not hard to remember.

She hesitates for the second repeat. She’s not sure if she should join in. This is Chloe’s thing. But then she can tell the song is winding down and she wants to say it, too. She wants to feel what Chloe’s feeling.

“I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me,” she shouts alongside Chloe, and Chloe turns to look at her with the biggest eyes, the brightest smile.

Chloe pulls over to the side of the road as the song fades out. She shuts off the car, unbuckles her seatbelt, and slides over to Victoria.

And in the darkness, they’re in love.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[There will be feasting and dancing in Jerusalem next year](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ii6kJaGiRaI) _


	13. You, Or Your Memory

They took down the memorial on room 219.

Chloe sees it one night, after Victoria convinces her to come back to her dorm with her instead of heading back home. The door’s blank, the candles are gone, the slate wiped clean. Max is gone.

Victoria tries to explain it when Chloe just sits down on the bed and stares at her lap. A new student, a midyear transfer, she says. There’s going to be a permanent one somewhere, someday. Juliet’s been pushing for it.

But it feels, somehow, like Max has left all over again anyway.

As Chloe leaves the next morning, a doe crosses the quad in front of her, stopping only for a second to meet her eyes before wandering back to the woods.

 

* * *

 

Victoria’s the one who decided on this Spring Break roadtrip. It amazes Chloe, sometimes, how well Victoria knows her. Knows that she’s been wanting to do this for a long time, but couldn’t wrack up the nerve or the feeling that she deserved it.

But standing here, on a brisk April day in Seattle, wearing her new jacket, before Max’s grave, she’s still not able to do it.

The jewel case shakes in her hands. She’s supposed to put it down here, where Max lays at rest. Chloe is supposed to let go of this memory. She’s supposed to be able to move on and somehow match Victoria’s love for her, and that means she’s supposed to let Rachel and Max fade away so that she’s never thinking of them when they kiss or when they make love or when she’s lying awake and running her fingers over Victoria’s sleeping form. But she _can’t_. She can’t just lay this wonderful memory down and pretend like it never happened. She can’t give it back to Max, because Max is dead and Chloe’s not and memory is all that’s left of Max.

Victoria gently puts a hand on the case and steadies it. “You don’t have to,” she whispers.

 

* * *

 

Chloe calls David, before they go to bed. It’s getting easier to do that. The divorce papers haven’t yet been filed, and they might never be. Chloe still can’t see him in person. She knows that. It’ll bring back everything she said in December. But his program is working for him. He can listen to Chloe tell him everything that he did to her, and offer no excuse, only apologies and assurances that he will mend his ways. He never really knew the damage he did. That doesn’t mean Chloe can forgive him, and she’s not sure if she ever will. But maybe she can be at peace with it, some day.

And they can talk about other things, too. He’s driving a bus to make ends meet. She’s working security at a nightclub. She and Victoria are meeting Vic’s parents for lunch tomorrow. They’re alive, and they’re working.

 

* * *

 

 _Pirate Power_ sits on the nightstand in the Caulfields’ guest bedroom. Chloe lays on her side in the bed, Victoria’s arms around her waist, and brushes her fingers over it as if to make sure it’s still real.

“You okay?” Victoria asks, shifting against her back.

“Not yet,” Chloe answers, turning to face her. She really does look good with pink hair.

“I like that ‘yet.’” Victoria cups her chin and kisses her. And keeps kissing her.

Chloe just can’t understand it sometimes. How Victoria can love her so fiercely. How she can accept Chloe’s brokenness, her difficulty, her pain. She feels like Victoria is giving up too much of herself. Trusting too much to a shattered girl who can’t keep hold of anyone or anything for very long.

As they lay in dark, bare and sweating beside one another, Chloe fears the day when she breaks that trust and everything crashes down. When Victoria will realize that Chloe is just a stepping-stone for her on the way to some future greatness, and staying on that stone will halt her progress and turn her bitter and cold. When Victoria moves on in the way that Chloe can’t, and finds someone who can actually return her devotion without caveats.

But then Victoria nuzzles up to her and slings an arm across her chest and proclaims her love again. Chloe’s blood rushes. Tears threaten to spill. Because she loves Victoria too, so much that it hurts her chest. Even through lingering grief, even through her head demons, Chloe feels that love like a tumor in her lungs. It threatens to swallow her insides and leave her hollow. She’s trusting everything to Victoria too, the same way she did for Rachel. Maybe her love isn’t pure and undiluted like Victoria’s, and maybe her heart is scratched and tattered, but it’s still there. Every inch of her burns with hope and fear and desire for Victoria. Despite everything, Chloe is still here, and there’s only one person to thank for that. Only one person to devote her whole self to, as cracked and flawed as that self is.

 

* * *

 

In her dream, she stands on a hillside in a vast green valley. A twisted and expansive tree weaves its branches above her head, leafless and bare. The doe trots up towards her in the orange light of the sunset, taller than she really is, tall enough to reach Chloe’s chin, tall enough for Chloe to see the spots that mark the fur around her face.

It’s a familiar pattern.

She reaches out and folds the doe’s ears back, trying to remember where she’s seen that constellation before, where those blue eyes really belong. As she does, the doe flies apart like a pile of dry leaves before a windstorm and leaves nothing but Max, Chloe’s hand in her shaggy brown hair.

Chloe pulls Max close and finds her lips, because in dreams you always kiss the ones you love before they go.

A heart-stopping laugh echoes through the plain as Chloe breaks free, Max’s image blackening and bubbling like a burning photograph until she’s gone. Chloe looks up into the branches and sees red-and-black plaid, long blonde hair, a single feather earring. Rachel looks down at her, smiling, and pats the bark beside her.

The climb is easy enough. Chloe crawls across the branch and sits down next to Rachel, and lets her put an arm around her shoulders and hold her close and whisper in her ear. Rachel promises love and undying devotion and a life together in a far-off city, because in dreams the people you love love you, and only you.

The sun slips beneath the horizon as Rachel holds her. As the last light fades from the sky, she feels a shove, and she’s tumbling out of the tree. Darkness is upon her and she is alone, scraped and torn from the fall, face in the dirt. A soft hand finds hers despite the black and pulls her up, and it’s not black at all, it’s moonlit and starry as she stares at Victoria’s face, as scratched and bloody and filthy as her own.

In dreams, love is never a mistake.

The stains wash away as they kiss. Skin knits itself back together. New wounds open, bleed, scab, scar over, until they are both whole and damaged.

The two of them sit at the base of the tree, intertwine their fingers, and wait for dawn.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _There's going to come a day when you feel better_   
>  _You'll rise up free and easy on that day_   
>  _And float from branch to branch, lighter than the air_   
>  _Just when that day is coming, who can say?_   
>  _Who can say?_
> 
>  
> 
> For all the ones I love, who have suffered and healed at the hands of others as broken as themselves.
> 
> Chapter titles and endnotes taken from "A Better Place, a Better Time," by Streetlight Manifesto, "Little Blue Pills Part 3" and "Perfectly Dysfunctional," by Days 'N Daze, and "This Year," "You Or Your Memory," and "Up the Wolves," by the Mountain Goats.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's reached out to me, here or through my [tumblr.](http://recourse-ao3.tumblr.com/) My conversations with you have fueled my creative spark and my emotions. May you all find the peace you deserve.
> 
> And as always, thank you all for reading.


End file.
